


Beyond Pride

by Kazia0002



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Politics, Suicide, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazia0002/pseuds/Kazia0002
Summary: A direct sequel to my completed work, Pride. Knowledge of the events and characters from Pride is indispensable to understand this piece.





	1. Withdrawing...

**Withdrawing...**

I wake up with the first rays of sun, and, as has been my habit of late, climb the roof of the Crimson Curtain. Most of the patrons are still in deep slumber after strenuous activities at night; the brothel’s business is booming. Especially ever since Archons’ son and heir has graced our establishment with his presence, visits in Curtain became the latest fashion.

To respond properly to this new influx of customers we have bought building right next to it and under dwarven architect’s strict supervision joined them in one. We have now two larger rooms suitable for orgies - and no, I do not dwell on the debauchery that happens within. As long as my girls remain unhurt and they pay their due, I am glad to leave the more carnal details in the hands of Tress who has taken over the duties over Curtain after Riv’s abrupt… retirement.

I look at Minrathous, with its rooftops basking in the sun; creating an appearance of gold covering them. It remains enchanting, even while knowing it is merely metallic illusion. Only Archon could afford such wastefulness; but the Royal Family thinks such ostentatiousness beneath them. No, it is an artful play on materials, and the result is much warmer and more welcoming than gold would have been. Minrathous has lost a lot of its glamour after the disastrous Crimson March of Andraste; but it remains my favourite human city on Thedas.

Leaving it won’t be easy.

I perch myself on the edge of the roof, overlooking the barely waking up street below, and fall deep in thoughts. There have been many changes in Wings since my curt letter to the Inquisition, which ended our association. Most notably, Valeria’s departure. Even after six months, a pang of pain accompanies the thought that my daughter has definitely severed our association, leaving me none the wiser as to the reasons for her decision.

She didn’t even bother to come and announce it personally. She sent a short message informing that she has decided to tie her future to the Inquisition - which immediately forced me to recall Dagna from her post and assign Nervlis with unenviable task of finding her replacement. With Valeria’s loyalties shifted, I did not want to risk our dwarf; Dagna is too valuable to lose in such circumstances. We immediately put her to work back in one of our laboratories, a joint project with Merchant’s Guild. Bianca was very glad to have her back.

Nervlis wasn’t surprised by Valeria’s decision - nor did he seem particularly grieved about it. It is only after his reaction that I’ve realized they have split up; and apparently, a while ago. I haven’t noticed... but it explained a couple of things, like Valeria’s relocation to Skyhold. I can’t believe I’ve missed this… But then again, as recent events have proved rather extensively, I am far from infallible judge of characters. Riv had me completely fooled - and my only consolation was that I wasn’t the only one. But Nervlis, for one, had figured out that something was off a long time ago.  

Still, I wish I knew what pulled them apart. Maybe it was the same thing which made Valeria so angry with me. I wish I understood.

The crimson of the sunrise is replaced by a yellowish glow, and with it the streets below enliven. Standing up I stretch leisurely, and jump down a couple of floors, landing with a soft thud on my balcony. Cole lounging in the corner lifts his head up, and grins brightly in greeting.

‘A pleasant day to you, Pride.’

I nod back, the doors swinging back and forth after my passing. A stack of reports and Nervlis already await me in my office, and I set down to the more mindless part of my work.

Cole had come a couple of months ago, with Dorian. He said that there was nothing keeping him in the Inquisition anymore, and that he missed me - cutting off any protests I might have uttered. I could not begrudge him my presence, especially when I missed him too.

He and Imshael did not take to one another at all, and for a while my office and quarters became a literal battlefield, spirit and demon constantly looking to get the better of one another. Either in words or in actions; and once a priceless vase was broken, a couple of important letters smeared with blood, and my bed marred with distinctive claw marks, I have had enough. I’ve told them, not mincing words, that I had no need of disruptive retainers, and that if they didn’t cut it out I would be getting rid of them - both of them.

This quieted them down immediately, and I’ve had no trouble from them ever since. This did not resolve their conflict by any means, and at times I could feel their mutual hostility through the bond - but as long as they kept it nice and quiet, they could hate each other to their hearts’ content.

I’m almost done with the most immediate concerns by the midday, when our work is interrupted by a skittishly looking young Wing. Clearly awed by both our presence, and the important role he has been given, the youth nervously stammers out his message.

‘Mmmy Lady, there’s a man dddownstairs.’ Sweat drips from his forehead and he wipes it away impatiently. ‘He has cccome asking for Sola.’

I can see Tasha’s hand in this, for few of my Wings would know to refer this request to me. I was not aware she had taken to managing lobby - but that is a question for another time. Frowning, I close my eyes and reach within, pushing my aura outwards until it stretches far enough to brush against the stranger’s presence. As our powers collide, I feel a friction on my spine, and a familiar warmth spreads through me - along with irritation.

He was supposed to give me space, Creators damn it!

Slamming my hands on my desk in uncontained anger, I stand up rapidly, knocking the chair down. Nervlis looks at me with slight concern, unaccustomed to such displays from me, but I wave it away carelessly.

‘I will deal with this.’

Two flights of stairs are not enough to calm either my rapidly beating heart, or my irritation. Both with him - but predominantly, with myself, because I cannot decide whether I am more glad to see him, or more annoyed because he is pushing when he promised not to. I have a slight scowl on my face when I reach the reception room, and it shows. When I twirl my fingers around, the Wings scurry away, responding to the command with more promptness than usual.

Fen wears a serious expression and has his arms crossed defensively, but his eyes brighten at the sight of me.

‘I believe I was to be given time.’ I note flippantly, masking my troubled feelings. His shoulders sag ever so slightly in almost indiscernible resignation, but his reply is undaunted and cutting.

‘True. But it was not indefinite. And my patience is running short.’

Something snaps in me in frustrated reaction to his commanding tone. This is not my lover come calling; this is my liege demanding deference. And if that is his wish, then that is what he is going to get. With softly drawn breath, I reach to my extensive training and only slightly faltering, perform a whole low courtly bow, with one hand hovering over my heart and the other baring its wrist in a gesture of submission.

‘As my Lord commands.’ I keep my eyes down, as proper in our disparate stations.

‘Pride.’ I can hear anguish in Fen’s voice, and I can feel him closing in on me, his steps muted by the carpet and his own lightness of movement. He grasps my chin with two fingers, and forcefully lifts my head - and then me - up from my bow. ‘Do not hide behind these rituals from me. Bent neck doesn’t suit you.’

The pressure of his hold on me lessens to a soft caress over my cheek, sending shivers up my spine. His closeness makes my heart beat in a rapid staccato, and a flush travel up my cheeks. Creators. Our attraction to one remains unwaveringly intense, I catch on his slightly hitched breath before responding.

‘You can’t have it both ways, Fen’Harel.’ My voice shakes a bit, as I look into the storm of his eyes. ‘Either I am your subservient and you’ve come to bring me to heel; or I am your friend and equal and you have to give me time, the way you **promised** you would.’

‘I would never have you as anything less than my equal, my Pride. On the contrary, I would gladly elevate you above me - worship you and the ground you walk on.’ I begin to shake my head, and he sighs dejectedly at my blatant disbelief switching the topic. ‘I have given you time aplenty, I believe.’ I attempt to turn my gaze away, but Fen doesn’t allow it, keeping my face in place and eyes locked on me.

‘And yet that is not enough, or I would have told you so.’

‘Have some mercy on me.’ Begging suits him no better than subservience does me, I discover, hiding a grimace. ‘One letter, Pride. A single-sentence missive in fifteen months, and even that was regarding politics. What was I to think?’

‘That I’m still angry, perhaps? Because that certainly is the truth.’

‘Angry about what? I’ve apologised for my deception, it was truly remiss of me. But I have had my reasons, if you would be willing to listen.’ A flash of anger crosses Fen’s eyes, and I feel relieved by this. Finally, I can be on even ground with him - rejecting his broken pleas would have been beyond me; but this is the Fen I am much more familiar with. The one who I can put off.

‘There are always reasons, Fen, but at the end of it there was your selfishness. And that’s what I find unacceptable.’

‘True enough, I was selfish.’ His voice creaks ever so slightly, and I look at him beseechingly. I have spoken the truth, for my anger hasn’t abated - but it no longer burns so brightly as to deny him the right to explain himself. Maybe I will become more pliant with his honeyed words; and I have no doubts he will do his best to cast himself in more favourable light. But I owe him at least to listen, because he also has a point - I should have written **something**. That I did not was a result of my wounded pride getting the better of me - not an unusual occurrence that with my pride often dictating my moves, but in this case I should have known better.

‘I was selfish to want your declaration before relating you the information regarding June, but can you really blame me? In the past, regardless of the situation you had chosen him, time and time again. Against your own inclinations; against your better judgement you would return to his side. And you cannot fool me - it wasn’t only fear that chained you by his side. Had it been fear only, you wouldn’t have allowed it to have a lasting hold over you; your very nature would have chafed you, demanded your departure. No, you felt obligated to remain with him; and you felt guilty for not loving him enough, and so you stayed. Was I supposed to simply let you go, and allow you to repeat the same pattern over and over again? No, Pride. I deny June from having you ever again. And if I had to stretch the boundaries between us, manipulate you into achieving this result, then Void take me, this is what I have done, and would have done again. I am not watching you walk away from me ever again, my Pride. You are mine, forever and ever.’ After his impassionate speech Fen exhales, and looks at me expectantly. I bite on my lip, taking it all in - both spoken words, and the upheavel hidden in his eyes and tense posture.

‘I wasn’t going to pick it up back again with June, Fen.’ I finally speak softly, shaken to the very core. I did not think his behaviour was rooted in such fear...

‘Maybe not initially, but I have no doubts June could have convinced you. The damned youngster is just as cunning as I am, especially when it comes to someone he desires as desperately as he does you. June wouldn’t hesitate from using your guilt against you, just like I wasn’t above using your love for me to ensure there are no tricks left he could employ to sway you.’

Could his words possibly hold a grain of truth in them? Certainly, I felt obligated to be loyal to June; because I believed I had hurt him enough. It’s hard to imagine that anything could sway me to his side… But when I think of the me from a century ago, I can easily see myself falling for this. However, I’ve changed significantly since then - grew more unyielding. No, I am fairly certain nothing June would have done could sway me.

But I do not think Fen knows that - I don’t think he fully appreciates whom I’ve become.

But that is my fault, not his. I’ve not taken care to reassure him enough; left him wondering while I remained steeped in my own doubts and worries. We will need to overcome them, for our relationship to fully flourish - or we will continue hurting one another, both inadvertently and on purpose. As long as we remain uncertain - as long as I fear he will turn away when faced with the darkness in my soul; as long as he believes I am capable of leaving him for any reason… We will keep wounding one another, lashing out in fear and anger.

I do not want our relationship to become this bundle of misunderstanding and pain.

But in order to speed the healing process along, I need to learn and forgive him for the things he does to protect himself - and hope that when the time comes for me to make my mistake, Fen will do the same.

Sighing deeply, I nuzzle my cheek against his palm, allowing his other hand to reach out and pull me into embrace. Fen’s erratically beating heart pounds next to my ear, and I can feel him bending down and kissing the top of my head softly, draping himself more firmly over my body.

‘I understand, Fen’Harel. It does not mean I agree, either with your actions or the conclusions you have reached, but I understand.’

And I really do. Fear of losing what’s most precious to us makes us do unreasonable things; and my wolf has lived in fear for a long time.

I take him by the hand and lead to my quarters, impatiently shooing my bonded spirits away through our connections. Cole sends his happiness back and flickers away, while Imshael lingers for a bit, finally relenting with amusement at my more direct threat to make him regret trying my patience.

‘You feel a whole lot more like yourself now.’ I mutter quietly, immersing myself in Fen’s aura with delight. It brims with energy, at close quarters completely overwhelming his limiter. He is nearly back to his old power - now missing only the sweet tang of Fade cloaking him and gathering with his every move to fulfill his bidding.

We will get there. I believe in him.

‘Getting the orb back helped.’ Fen smiles and presents to me the round artifact. It burns me slightly on touch, and I draw my hand back surprised by this reaction, but keeping it to myself. ‘A lot of my power was bound to its protection spells; now that it is unlocked and in my hands, I could dispel them and access it again.’

I have on the tip of my tongue the many questions about Corypheus and what, exactly, has he done - but I immediately scold myself into patience. These all can wait. Instead I tackle the topic which, I know, will make my wolf unhappy.

‘Regardless, I spoke the truth before - I need more time. My preparations to leave are not done; and I can’t just leave my Wings stranded without leadership so easily. I’ll find my way to you soon enough, ma’Fen.’

Fen closes his eyes briefly, before asking curtly.

‘How soon?’

I waver uncertainly, weighing it in my mind.

‘I suppose… Six months.’

I can see the protest dying on his mouth, as he draws me into a kiss instead. Fen would love to object; I feel the conflicting emotions clashing in his mind. But he chooses to keep it to himself, glad to have my forgiveness instead when he hadn’t thought he would receive it. I sigh into his mouth, pliantly opening up for him and allowing his tongue to sweep over mine. The passion makes me lose coherency, as Fen holds onto me with desperation, expressing the longing he had felt for these past months.

We go no further than kissing, submerging ourselves in our closeness without needing more. My bones feel like mush when I cling to him as he worships my face with delicate caresses, his astonished awe at being able to do so expressed in the widened in amazement eyes.

‘I thought you wouldn’t forgive me quite this easily.’ Fen admits once the initial heat has cooled somewhat, and I lie against him pressing my back into his lean, strong chest.

I lift my head to look up at him with raised eyebrow.

‘Do you believe me to be spiteful?’

‘I know your pride has been wounded, vhenan.’ Fen nudges my neck with his nose, speaking against my skin. ‘I know how much you hate it.’

I consider his words leisurely.

‘That is certainly true. But I can see past that, my wolf.’ I touch lovingly his bald scalp, murmuring softly. ‘I did mature some during the time we’ve been apart, you know. I can see more than just my pride now.’

‘I’m glad.’ Fen does not specify what exactly is he glad for, and I do not ask.

He departs the following morning, as I expected he would. There was no way Fen could waste six months while waiting for me; there’s too much to be done. He draws me into a kiss in the lobby, as I am walking him to the exit - a very heated, and very **public** kiss. I blush with mortification at such overt display of affection, feeling the glances of my Wings burning with curiosity on my back; but nonetheless I respond with enthusiasm, opening up before him. I have missed the way he could make my body quiver and writhe from pleasure with the simplest actions. I drown my senses into the unique sensation that is Fen, allowing him to cloud my senses just for another brief moment of respite.

And then its back to business. There are many changes taking place in a short amount of time in Tevinter; and sometimes I feel like there are not enough hours in the day to do everything that needs to be done. I have barely managed to prevent the marriage between Archon’s eldest daughter and Duke Gaspard. It worsened the Tevinter-Orlais relationships considerably, but with my input Magister Lucanus has managed to convince the Archon not to meddle into the brewing new civil war - and not to risk his favourite child to such uncertain fate.

I could care less about the spoiled princesses’ life or death during that ruthless Game, but I was quite concerned about Briala’s fate, should Gaspard gain advantage of such marriage. It was a close call; and barely after it was finished there was Minerva’s and Dorian’s wedding to consider with all its implications. Dorian has been preparing to take over after Tessarian, and I have been teaching Bethany how to support him in this role as a future Wing’s leader.

Yes, I have chosen Bethany as my replacement. I would have left that role to Nervlis, alas, once I’ve begun my groundwork, almost a year ago, he had come to me and firmly announced he has no intention of leading Wings.

‘Are you certain?’ I asked helplessly. ‘There’s none more deserving than you; and I would rather see no other.’

‘I am your second, Fean’Na. I have never wished to lead; following you is my sole desire.’ Nervlis replied stately. I did not ask how he knew I would leave once this was done - he, out of all my companions, could always read me best. Not quite as well as Fen, but still nearly presciently.

‘My road will not be easy; nor it will revolve around freeing slaves, anymore.’ I warned him, in spite of the futility of it. When he smiled knowingly and just nodded, I closed my eyes in defeat and agreed.

‘Very well. I will find another - but know that you are making my job much harder.’ But my grumbling was half-hearted, and Nervlis just smirked knowingly while presenting me with alternatives without a pause.

Truth to be told, I was - am - quite flattered by his devotion. I have known that while both Tasha and Ryanth have always been loyal, they were loyal to me as friends; I could certainly count on them, but... they wouldn’t just abandon everything to accompany me on my journey. Neither - and there was a painful pang at the thought - would Valeria, as the case was, with her readily leaving Wings behind for another organisation. For the first time I have realised that Nervlis was loyal to **me** first, and to Wings second. It made me wonder how many more things I have missed, with my absence from the organisation - both in mind and in flesh.

Or maybe it had begun much earlier, like with Riv, only I hadn’t recognized the signs?

Remaining in Minrathous helps me to catch up with the most recent news around, and I finally find out the identity of Minerva’s mystery lover. To say that I am shocked to know it is Fenris would me a humongous understatement; and Nervlis laughs at me seeing my dumbfounded expression. He, of course, had been aware of it right from the start of the affair. Fenris, too, is quite amused - and in the privacy of my chambers, Imshael also makes fun of my lack of comprehension in such matters. I fume quietly to myself - I always realized things when it **counted** ; and who was Minerva’s lover made no difference in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, Imshael wears a mirthful twinkle in his eyes and doesn’t hesitate from bringing up my failings at any excuse for the next month or so; while Cole remains blissfully bewildered by the whole matter.

Isabela and Hawke have more or less made up, and Hawke fully embraced his role in Wings - and that is another reason why I believe Bethany to be the best choice. I **would** have made Arissar my replacement; but that would cause unnecessary tensions on the political front. The Archon had - after many proofs - accepted that there are Qunari willing to work within Wings without betraying our cause or spying for their contemporaries on Par Vollen; but asking of him to accept a former Ben’Hassrath in such vital position is simply too much. But I am certain that Arissar will be able to successfully assist Bethany, and lead her in the right direction. With her brother taking over her duties in Orlais as another source of support, I see no better candidate for the position.

There’s an assassination attempt on my life, easily thwarted by dark cloud of demonic fury that is Imshael and no less indignant if much less cruel flash of light that is Cole. I barely manage to open my eyes in reaction to the commotion in my bedroom before the whole ordeal is done and over with; but my spirits demand I switch my quarters to a safer ones regardless; unusually unified in their desires. After a couple of days of meagre protests I relent - only to find out that Nervlis has had them prepared the moment he had heard about the event. He admits somewhat abashed that he was ready to force me into accepting the change if I dallied for much longer.

I am of two minds whether to feel amused or aggravated by the attentiveness of my guard dogs. I wish they stopped treating me like an invalid; I am capable of defending myself, thank you very much, I’ve managed for three centuries!

Somehow, it doesn’t convince them, and from that day onwards I am always accompanied by one of the spirits. They take to blending into shadows to be more inconspicuous, but I remain aware of their constant presence in the vicinity through our singing bond. I suppose I ought to be grateful, but I’m mostly exasperated.

The time passes by swiftly, and before I know it, the sixth month I’ve settled on with Fen draws to a close.

My relegation of the leadership into Bethany’s hands is marked by a large ball, gathering all the major Wings from across Thedas and Tessarian and his family. I knew I had to officially distinguish the occasion, even if it was quite a pain to organise. But the Wings are happy with the celebration, even if a bit saddened by my impending departure. Bethany has a harried look in her eyes, asking me for the thousandth time whether I am really convinced there’s no other way. I make Arissar drag her away before I explode with invectives - my nerves are quite frayed after the thousand and one details that all required my immediate attention prior to the event.

I greet the guests at the entrance dressed in regal white - and if none of them are aware of the connotations and my fealty payed to Arlathan and Fen, then what? And if the dress is not quite as pristine and well crafted as the one I have left in my sanctuary, well. One cannot have everything.

Mingling with the crowd, I ensure all their needs are met, fulfilling social obligations with growing impatience. For all my irritation, the ball is a splendid success, and the Wings honor the occasion with appropriate restraint and gravity; but the overall mood is far from solemn. My people - soon **formerly** my people - are glad to shed their mantles of killers, spies and informants for the more festive personas. I am happy that they are happy, even while counting the hours till midnight.

A short while before the planned speech, when my false smile develops a nervous twitch in a corner and I am all stiff from the posturing, Cole suddenly disappears from my side. A couple of minutes later a new guest enters the ballroom, gathering everyone’s attention with his brilliantly clad in pure white form. I instinctively find my way through the crowd, drawn to his familiar aura; my irritation inexplicably dissipating in his presence.

‘You’ve come.’ I stammer amazedly, while taking in Fen’s splendid form.

‘I did. Although my invitation got misplaced; a dreadful accident, I’m sure.’

‘I did not believe you would have the time for such frivolity.’ I reply a touch apprehensively, berating myself for not even informing him of the occasion.

‘I don’t.’ Fen’s eyes are laughing, as he bows deeply over my hand, bringing it to his lips. ‘It doesn’t matter, though, I came regardless.’

‘No, it does not.’ I say softly. I feel a shiver of pleasure that he had prioritized me over the countless responsibilities he surely faces.

‘Is it too late to claim my dance with the hostess?’ Fen asks, and without waiting pulls me in the direction of the dancefloor, subtly maneuvering my movements.

‘Need you ask?’ I twirl around to face him and bow in reply to his dignified nod, allowing his hands to find their places on my thigh and arm.

And suddenly the stars and moon shine brighter; the music sounds more clearly, and the ballroom is draped in a myriad of colours.

Or maybe it’s just me, seeing things differently.


	2. Curious…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Steps From Hell - Star Sky

My wolf leads me to the center of the ballroom. We draw a lot of attention, people instinctively forming a circle around us as Fen imperiously commands the space. I can see astonished looks from Tasha and Ryanth, who haven’t seen me like this before - but Fen soon twirls me around and I lose the sight of them, docilely following his expert lead. 

I can see that this dance has a larger purpose than just my enjoyment; it is more in the nature of declaration. Fen’Harel is publicly claiming me. And even if there are few who would comprehend just how scandalous that is, for the court who would have understood these implications is long gone, our matching outfits and atypical for me obedience are enough to communicate at least some of the gravity of this event. 

 _‘Are you quite certain about such openness of our commitment?’_ I ask softly, barely above the music. A winning smile tugs at Fen'Harel's lips, and a hint of satisfaction; just barely discernible but it is undoubtedly there.

 _‘After three millennials of pining after you in secret, I am quite certain.’_ He replies steadfastly, keeping his focus on the dance.

I’ve long noticed that his eyes are his most expressive feature; clouding like a gathering storm when he is worried. Thundering and dark whenever in dangerous anger. Or… Twinkling and bright, like now, dancing with joy even while the rest of his visage remains largely impassive.

 _‘I think I am the one who oughts to question - are you certain about this white?’_ His forehead creases slightly, and I hear the unspoken _are you certain about disavowing June so definitely?_

 _‘You know I have never worn white for him.’_ I reply evenly, and his grip on my waist becomes firmer and warmer. The look he sends me is smolderingly heated, and I know, had we not been surrounded by hundreds of people he wouldn’t have held back his passion. It brings a slight blush to my cheeks, and I escape with my eyes.

I’m a bit relieved that the song soon ends and I have a couple of minutes to regain my bearing. Fen bows and allows himself to be swept away by an array of guests desireful of a moment of my attention. Soon however my social dance is interrupted by Nervlis who weaves his way through the crowd to my side, nodding to me in a sedate manner.

‘It is time.’

I jerk my head in acknowledgement and make my way to the podium near the right wall of the ballroom. As I walk up, silence spreads through the area, as if someone had cast a spell on the crowd. Looking down on them I feel a wave of nostalgia - to think I’ve begun with only a handful of people.

‘My Wings.’ I pause, taking a deep breath. ‘We have spent many fruitful years together. Beginning small, slowly gaining in strength. Acquiring new allies - but also, new challenges and enemies to face. What has started as a clandestine mercenary company, grew to become one of the largest organisations in the whole of Thedas. Allow me to say how proud I am of you, and what you have achieved during those years.’

A rumble of approval passes through the people down below, and I am suddenly struck, empowered by their approval.

I could conquer anything I desired, had I allowed the organisation to spread some more. And for a moment, nothing is more tempting than abandoning my course of action and trying it this way, instead.

But I catch Fen in the crowd, a beacon of white commanding attention by merely **being** ; standing between the listeners and yet completely apart from them. And with a sudden clarity I realise it cannot be any other way. If my hidden dreams are to be realized, I need to start from the ground up - again.

Or not exactly from the ground up, I am reminded, as Imshael and Cole in turn tug at our bond. Far from it, in fact, I say to myself sternly, casting a sweeping look at Nervlis who straightens in response.

‘Alas, time is unforgiving mistress, and over the years I have grown weary of the duties and tasks relating to leading an organisation. It is with great regret, but I am forced to step down in favour of one better suited to carry on this heavy burden. Do not despair, however, for I am leaving you in capable hands. Bethany, please, step forward - and take on the mantle of leading the very best of people from all across Thedas.’ A mix of lies and truth mingled in there. But I doubt anyone but Fen and maybe Nervlis can pick up on them; and it’s a courtesy. Really, there’s no way of politely telling them their cause is no longer my own. That there are things more important to me.

I bow and allow the young mage to take the podium amidst clapping and cheers encouraging her on. There’s an animal-like dread in her eyes, but she keeps her composure and begins a speech of her own - but I am no longer attending to it. My last duty to the Wings is done, and I have taken every care with Nervlis’ help to prepare them for this transfer of power. Now everything is in Bethany’s - Arissar’s, in truth - capable hands. I wish them luck.

My wolf awaits me near the exit, with both of my spirits lingering around. Imshael plays a valet, putting a coat over my arms - and in the midst of congratulations and best wishes levied on Bethany we are gone into the night.

I’ve long prepared for this. The people in Wings have been told of my departure a week henceforth; but I’ve always intended to go the very night I gave up my power. All the things I’m bringing along are strapped to the back of my mount, which is not a lot. Nervlis arranged this, his movements under far less scrutiny than mine. He also remains in Minrathous for a couple of months longer, both to keep pursuers off my back, but also to pretend he is not coming after me at all.

To a degree this abruptness is a result of my bitterness - it’s just not easy, letting go of such influence. I’ve worked long and hard to achieve it; and seeing it passed down onto one who lived so easily and merrily while others bled for this to happen… It chafes. But the Wings cannot be dragged into whatever Fen’s planning, that’s not their battle. Of course, that wouldn’t be enough reason for me to stop; my selfishness exceeds my benevolence by far. But more importantly, I would not be able to count on their complete support, and in such desperate times unquestionable loyalty far outvalues sheer numbers. Which is why Nervlis is truly invaluble.

With the gates of Minrathous behind us, we direct our way southward, to Kirkwall. Fen’Harel casts curious glances at Imshael along the way. He can feel our bond, and Imshael’s demonic nature; but he doesn’t judge. I am glad he leaves it alone, especially since I do not fully understand what is it that transpired between us.

To keep myself from falling asleep in the saddle, I finally breach the topic which was the reason for our falling out over two years ago.

 _‘You’ve never explained why restoring the Fade is necessary. I got the feeling it is more than just Elvhen longevity that’s at stake…’_ I trail off uncertainly while our mounts trot at an easy pace which will allow them to last for many hours.

_‘Your instincts are as keen as always, my Pride. You are correct. It would not be an exaggeration to say the fate of Thedas depends on our success.’_

_‘That sounded quite dramatic.’_ I raise my eyebrows at his grim tone.

 _‘Did I ever mention what I was doing during my previous awakening? Aside from raging unreasonably at your involvement with Shartan, that is?’_ Fen asks out of nowhere, seemingly shifting the topic, and I shake my head in response. No, he hasn’t said a word.

 _‘When I have read your letter about the Blight, I have gotten worried. There was nothing similar to this during times of Arlathan, and I could only presume that the changes brought about by the lack of deities controlling the nature were somehow the cause of it. I even went along with the theory of Maker’s wrath - if he was the only one left alone, he could have enough power to bring it about. Possibly.’_ He pauses, reaching to a sack of water and taking a drink. _‘The Grey Wardens have been the obvious source of information, very large and well-organised force in those days. I have even joined the order’_ he smirks shrewdly _‘to study the initiation ritual. You know it is based on blood magic, do you not?’_

 _‘Part of it is drinking darkspawn blood - of course it must be based on blood magic.’_ I reply with a sneer, thinking about holier-than-thou attitude of the Chantry, saved by the very thing it disdains.

_‘I’m impressed. I though this knowledge was restricted to the Warden’s Order, and kept from the outsiders.’_

There’s an unreasonable urge to preen at this praise from him, but I fiercely remind myself the achievement is not mine, and I shouldn’t take credit for it.

_‘It is not. I have had access to the very best of spies, and I was curious about the Blight and everything related to it.’_

_‘Back to the issue, I was able to work on it, as well as analyze the Blight itself in the Deep Roads for many years. In fact, I was the reason why the Blight hasn’t come for over four hundred years. I have created a barrier forcing all of the Archdemons into Fade-deep slumber they should not have woken up from. Alas, the Wardens failed to properly maintain the runes keeping up the barrier, and another Blight came about.’_

He scowls, and suddenly I have another piece of the puzzle that is him.

_‘So that’s why you dislike Wardens so much!’_

_‘That is far from the only reason, but yes, among other things. Spending nearly a century in their company was a… trial.’_ Fen’Harel rolls his eyes with exasperation. _‘They were convinced they have been Maker’s gift to the world; and all of my words about the true nature of the Blight fell on the deaf ears. Such mix of both arrogance and ignorance is really hard to come by.’_ His words are seeped in venom. _‘Still, in their benevolence they allowed me to work my experiments, comprehend the nature of the plague. Even if they, themselves, weren’t willing to listen, at least I had my answers.’_

 _‘Well?’_ I prompt him on impatiently. The very same thing has had me curious for years; and I’ve always regretted not being able to see the Blight up close, myself.

_‘You will not be surprised to know that it has very little to do with Maker.’_

_‘No, really?’_ I mutter sarcastically, still looking at him expectantly.

 _‘In fact… in fact if we were to blame anyone, it would be me.’_ He smiles, but it is a crooked and broken smile. I reach across the gap between our mounts, grasping his hand and squeezing it. He laces our fingers together, and staring ahead of him - but not seeing anything, I would wager - continues. _‘I haven’t realized it, of course, but Fade is inseparably intertwined with the cycle of life. Separating it was… quite irresponsible of me.’_ He takes a deep breath and plunges on. _‘Somewhere in the bowels of Thedas, souls of the fallen - human, elvhen, dwarven, all of the creation really - gather to be reintroduced back into the cycle. The Fade had, so to speak, carried them back out - although better expression would be filter them out, I suppose, as it was a gradual process rather than instantaneous.’_

 _‘And with the absence of Fade…’_ I say out loud to myself, seeing with a dreadful clarity where this is all leading. Fen confirms my suspicions.

 _‘With the absence of Fade, they’ve begun festering. Deteriorating. The plague spread, reaching further and further away from the core, wishing to be unleashed. Until some unfortunate dwarf reached too far - and it ensnared them as the first ones to be blighted.’_ Fen sighs, suddenly appearing very old, the weight of the ages upon him. _‘Not that it would have made any difference - twas not dwarven greed that brought it about; and even if the dwarves did not dig so deeply the Blight would have spread. Maybe a bit later; but it would spread and spread until it reached_ **_something_ ** _to hold on to.’_

_‘And whenever the Blight happens…’_

_‘The blighted creatures come up above to be_ **_killed,_ ** _driven by an instinct to return to the cycle, in any way possible; even if it means destroying anything on their way. And instinctively they despise the living; despise them and want to be them. There’s little thought in them, little intelligence, aside from the most powerful souls - Corypheus being an exception, but I am pretty certain he was infected and turned out to be partially immune rather than reborn. They are death, an antithesis of life - which is why people affected by the blight have no chance of surviving, why there’s no cure. It feeds on life, corrupts it.’_ Fen looks at me, explaining further even though there’s no need to anymore - because I understand. I am completely horrified by this, but I really get it. Still, I do not interrupt, as he finally unloads what has kept him so pensieve all along.

_‘Fade was ripe with life precisely because it was intermingled with souls - and that’s why now, separated from them, it is only power. Both have become less, Thedas and Fade.’_

_‘It has to be restored, my Pride. The Blighted invasions will keep happening, and one day they will overwhelm the mortals - and we will be all living amids ghosts forced into this hideous form. I’m not saying that bringing the Fade back will immediately dispel the plague - but it will resolve its cause; the reason why it keeps appearing, striving upwards. We will suffer through one, maybe two Blights more, but then they will be gone.’_

_‘I’ve known right from the start that the barrier I have created was a temporary measure. The pressure on the Archdemon to lead the Blight upwards would grow and grow until the Hive Mind awoke, went upwards, back to light - back to life where these souls were supposed to be in the first place. I was simply too weak to do the ritual back then, and in any case restoration of the Fade will not be an easy process. It required preparations, some of which I have done during my sleep, and some of which need to be done. But I should have had more time - the Wardens failed in their duty. I just hope all of us won’t pay for their negligence. I’ve only woken up because I have felt the barrier falling apart - but I was far away, and getting back from the dreams took me years.’_

_‘Look at the bright side, ma’Fen. If the Wardens have not forsaken their tasks, we would not have met so soon; you would have still been asleep.’_ I point out, trying to brighten the mood a bit.

 _‘I suppose I ought to be grateful, then.’_ He smiles ruefully. _‘Because for all of Ferelden’s suffering I cannot bring myself to regret our meeting.’_

And suddenly we are serious again, Fen turning my weak attempt at levity into nothing with his gravity.

But I must admit, neither can I regret the consequences of the Wardens’ failure; Ferelden could have all crumbled under the plague’s pressure and I would have been glad to see him. Instead of speaking I squeeze his hand again, and silence falls between us.

My spirits have been careful to give us much needed privacy for this conversation, but seeing as we are done Imshael comes forward and suggests we make camp. Through our connection I pick up that it is not much of a suggestion - my demon feels I’ve been overexerting myself. There’s a resigned exasperation at my poor handling of myself, but he is quite firm about making me stop and rest. He was growing more and more frustrated with my tiredness, seeping into him, as I worked on the final ball preparations; and now he sees no reason for me to push myself so hard.

When Cole chirps in his enthusiastic agreement, chastising me for skipping two meals already, I am disarmed. It seems I have acquired two mother hens in my bonded spirits - although when the thought flitters through my head, Imshael bristles and stalks angrily away. I snort at the righteous indignation coming off him in waves; but even in the midst of it he does not stop from setting down our equipment.

I do not protest their actions too much, agreeing with their pointed advice. We’ve made quite the distance from Minrathous, and I see no harm in straying and resting in shade during the hottest hours of the day.

There’s a small lake with clear water nearby, and our chosen resting place is shaded by a couple of willows, their leaves rustling delicately in the wind. Fen announces that he would like to refresh himself, and sends me a questioning glance. I fight down a flush, hearing his unasked plea for company. Decisively ordering my two spirits to **keep away** , I take his hand and allow myself to be led down the stony path to the shore.

We take our time, sedately disrobing each other before jumping into the cool water, washing off the grime of journey. Swimming leisurely to rinse the soap from my long hair, I covertly admire Fen’s musculature, glistening from the water. He looks lithe but there’s not an ounce of fat on his body; and without the robes one can easily see how well-proportioned and handsome he really is. I dive to cool down the heat from my cheeks before he catches me staring.

Suddenly, there he is, right beside me. My eyes widen when he draws me into a kiss under water, startling slightly when his tongue forces me to open my mouth, curling around mine. Sharing passion and air we embrace, surrounded by the liquid, and I have a unique sensation of floating as my mind is swept away by sensation.

Once we resurface I gasp for the air greedily; for he has kept us without it for a while. My wolf does not allow me to order my thoughts, lying me down onto the grass. Languidly he makes me writhe in pleasure, taking his time exploring my skin as I moan, helplessly lost.  

‘Fen’Harel, please.’ I beg softly, and it breaks his restraint. He abandons his ministrations lifting me slightly and positioning himself above me. I welcome him into me, sighing with relief as the emptiness in me fills. I embrace him as my wolf invades my body and mind, his aura forcefully intertwining with mine in the rhythm of our movement, which soon grows frantic. He growls out his passion reminding me of his wolfish origins, as I moan out his name in release.

I breathe heavily from the exertion, quite unwilling to move. But my wolf bestirs himself to stand up and gently cleans me up. I blink to chase away the unexpected tears from my eyes,  at the utterly loving look in his eyes. Once he is done I lift myself to a half-sitting position and draw him into another kiss. With our desires sated, it is not quite as nerve-stirring as usual; but there’s still honey sweetness and sharpness of love there.

We make our way back to the camp where my two mother hens have prepared everything for us, and I immediately fall asleep on hitting the sack.

It turns out that my spirits were quite right to force me into rest; because I wake up nearly eighteen hours later. I am somewhat disgruntled by this terrible waste of time, but Fen waves away my concern, reminding me that there’s no specific schedule we need to adhere to. Regardless I am pouting a bit when we sit down to eat a meal, unhappy with putting everything off in such manner.

 _‘What exactly needs to be done to lower the Veil?’_ I ask once we are back in the saddle.

 _‘Well, there are a few things. Firstly, you have to understand it needs to be done gradually. We wouldn’t want to flood Thedas with demons now, would we?’_ Fen smirks, and I shudder a bit, recalling what was happening when the Breach was open.

 _‘No, we really don’t.’_ I mutter in complete agreement.

_‘We will need to set up ritual sites which will slowly wear down at the Veil. But first, we need to get rid or make some very careful deals with the Demon Lords.’_

_‘Demon Lords?’_ I frown thoughtfully.

 _‘The most powerful demons. They have divided the other side of the Veil between them, and are much like aristocracy on this side - as much as demons care about hierarchy. They rule solely by the right of power and fear.’_ Fen says matter-of-factly. I am a bit nauseated.

_‘And how many there are?’_

_‘Twelve. We need to deal with twelve.’_

I am already feeling a headache, thinking about all this. Tearing down the Veil **will** result in demonic invasion, even if it is gradual rather than abrupt. People will scream murder before they adjust to sharing their reality with the spiritual beings. Enforcing any order whatsoever will be incredibly hard.

Then there’s the fact that with the Veil gone, the Evanuris will be freed of their prisons - and none too happy with Fen, I would think. I am quite certain we will need Mythal’s support in this, and just the notion of having to ask the bitch for anything makes me uneasy. Even though she owes Fen, I wouldn’t trust her.

There’s also a small concern what to do with the Elvhen, who will need our support. I have promised Briala we will try doing **something**. I can’t leave her stranded; I just can’t.

And now there are these Demonic Lords, too powerful to be left alone, I would presume, or Fen wouldn’t have worried about them. And there’s twelve. A work for years to come, without a doubt.

‘Actually.’ Imshael coughs a bit, and I turn to look at him inquiringly. ‘Actually, you only need to worry about eleven of them.’

I nearly gape at him, stupefied. He avoids my gaze, steadfastly staring on the road ahead, and I fight down a groan. Seriously? I mean, seriously?

As if it wasn’t enough trouble, it appears I have an actual Demon Lord as my bonded.

Marvelous.

I can’t wait to explain **this one** to Fen. I bet he will just overjoyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than usual, but I wanted to end here before beginning a new topic.  
> At least some of Fen's motivations are now explained. What do you guys think?


	3. Bonding...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Steps From Hell - Victory

**Bonding...**

Using the distraction of Fen’s desire to provide for us, I find a quiet moment to question Imshael while my wolf and Cole have gone hunting for food.

‘You could have mentioned it.’ I begin with delicate chastisement. Demon just rolls his eyes, snorting.

‘You knew that I was powerful before taking me on. This? This is just a technicality. A name to pin on something you are already intimately aware of.’ To prove his point he tugs at our bond, flooding it with his untapped potential, locked away by my restrictions. I shake my head to clear it after this mind-numbing onslaught, silently conceding that he is quite right. I have always known that he has never been the run-of-the-mill kind of demon.

I look at him, and my conscience squirms seeing his barely disguised worry, expressed by his defiantly crossed arms and stiff posture. And if I had any doubts an echo of it flickers on the edge of his emotions - even though he tries to keep it from me. This futile attempt at secrecy more than anything convinces me he is really uncertain of my reaction. With sudden understanding of his concerns I grab his spiked claw and pull him towards me. Imshael glances at me dubiously but complies, forced to fall into my lap and comforting hug. More importantly, along with the physical touch I also send mental reassurance - no, it doesn’t change anything between us. I will allow him to remain by my side, even if he is a bit more than I expected. Even if I now doubt I could handle him, should he choose to rebel. I communicate my awareness of this too - as well as my trust that it will not happen.

Stupid of me, I know, to trust a demon - and yet, I cannot be otherwise. I have felt his soul, entwined it with mine; and I am quite certain our association changed us both. We both became more than we were through our connection, while retaining what made us **us.** I am still the Pride everyone, myself included, desperately clamors after. There are times when being her is almost too much for me, as she leaves ruin in her wake - but mostly, it is immensely gratifying and so much worth it.

But there’s a new side in me, a side which accepted the brutality of the world I reside in - and at least partially I have to attribute this to Imshael. I’ve done most of the work before meeting him but his presence smoothed the process; and I can feel his demonic lack of care seeping into me whenever I feel any more doubts.

And Imshael has retained his selfishness, egotism and utterly demonic desires to dominate and possess without bounds. He is a monster, when one looks at it closely - only he is **my** monster. And as such I can’t help accepting him, knowing he allows me to rein in him and his tendencies with each day he spends in my servitude.

Doubting my sincerity, he drops his human guise in provocation and waits for me to turn my gaze away. Take my hands back from the suddenly jarring, scaled skin, and pretend that this hasn’t happened. He wants me to admit I am only accepting of the tame parts of him, instead of fully as I am implying.

But I’ve never been repulsed by his purple coating or spikes or bat-like wings shyly peeking from his back. Even ages ago I considered him exotically beautiful, and this perception hasn’t changed. So instead of doing what he expects of me I trace the contours of the horns on his head, noting the differences between them and the ones Qunari sport.

They’re much more slender, less bulky. Multiple of them, too, rather than a single set - although aside from the front ones, the ones further in the back are only partially developed. The smallest pair is a barely discernible, small bulge just above his neck. Seeing him shiver ever-so-slightly under my touch I decide there must be some nerve endings there, while Qunari have none in their appendages.

Fascinating.

Imshael shakes his head, still trying to deny my feelings, but I can sense a shy ray of hope in his soul, growing into something more. Finally believing in the unwavering certainty I communicate through our bond, he returns my embrace with bone-crushing strength. My frailty is all the more exasperated against his inhuman power, he effortlessly lifts me from the ground as if I weighed no more than a feather.

‘You really are unlike anyone else.’ He mutters raspily, and there’s a very real fragility in this statement that I tactfully pretend not to notice. I can understand where he is coming from - unconditional love is hard to come by. And sometime during the many days of our souls melding together, I grew to love him. Just like I did with Cole.

Once we let go looking everywhere but at each other, both of us ashamed of such display of our attachment - I clear my throat and ask.

‘So what happens to your part of the Veil now, when you are here?’

‘As long as no one thinks to challenge my position, I presume it’s left as it was.’ He shows his teeth in a disturbing caricature of smile. ‘I am far too dangerous to be disturbed; and I often aimlessly ramble my territory. My absence won’t be noticed easily.’

‘That’s useful.’ I mutter to myself, tapping fingers against the leather of my armour thoughtfully. ‘I’ve a task for you.’

‘Hmm?’ The demon stretches lazily and I feel him reaching out through me to ensure Cole and Fen are still a fair distance away. My spirit impatiently swats away Imshael’s presence like one would a fly, clearly loath to be interrupted; fascinated by whatever it is that Fen is showing him. I send an irritated glare at Imshael, as always frustrated by the tug of war they’re playing. He grins, unrepentant, and sighing in surrender I force myself to return to the issue at hand.

‘I need you to find out about this Aether thing. Do you remember what I’m talking about?’ His interest tickled, he glances in my direction and I expand upon the idea. ‘The words we’ve exchanged during our binding - I spoke something similar with Cole. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.’

Not knowing, not understanding what is it that we’ve accomplished has been driving me crazy. I absolutely despise feeling out of depth. However with the countless tasks in Minrathous, for the time being I pushed my uneasiness away… But now there’s nothing to stop me from exploring the unusual connection the three of us formed.

‘You are not going to ask the wolf?’ Imshael asks nonchalantly, but his eyes twinkle with satisfied glee. I sigh again, but say out loud what he wants to hear.

‘You know I will not. It’s not like Fen’Harel would have an answer - I have a distinct impression - certainty - that whatever has happened is something new altogether. And Fen was never any good with things evolving, changing beyond what he considers acceptable boundaries.’ I close my eyes with a twinge of regret. My wolf can be rather close minded at times, and it is tiresome. ‘No, this is something I need to investigate on my own. Cross back to the Fade and reassert your hold over your domain - searching for answers in the meantime. I’ll have Cole seek them out on this side of the Veil, as well.’

‘You know that even with our bond crossing back and forth is not easily accomplished.’ Imshael states matter-of-factly. ‘You won’t be able to call upon my assistance at will, my lady. I would hate to put you in danger with my absence.’

What a mother hen, I smile under my nose, careful to tuck this thought away before it can reach him.

‘I’m safe with Fen’Harel, I assure you. Imshael, you must be aware that the wolf is much more powerful than he seems - in fact he far exceeds both you and Cole combined.’

‘Still, if you intend on tackling the other Demon Lords, I would rather be at hand.’ Imshael argues petulantly.

‘I promise I’ll wait for your return before any confrontation with others of your kind.’ I lift my eyes to the heavens in exasperation, but the demon is finally satisfied with this guarantee. He nods sharply his agreement, and I flick my hand at him in a short command. We manage to return to the campsite before our two wayward hunters note our absence.

Fen quickly sets down to skinning the bounty they have brought, while Cole stalks in Imshael’s direction with an expression I can’t quite place at first.

‘What did I tell you?’ The spirit asks with a decisively triumphant smirk on his face, and I finally find a name to what I saw. He is gloating. My pure, innocent Cole… What have I done, making him share bond with a demon?

‘Lay off.’ Imshael snaps at Cole, but the spirit remains undeterred.

‘I told you it would be fine. Pride wouldn’t abandon you over something so insignificant.’ Something tingles in my soul, as if in confirmation, and Cole adds with a sense of wonder. ‘She wouldn’t abandon you at all. Neither of us.’

The look of utter devotion he sends me is a bit unsettling, and I fight down my embarrassment.

‘I think we’ve been underestimating our lady.’ Imshael concedes with a sigh, but the astonished turmoil inside him is anything but resigned. He is still adjusting to the idea of being a permanent fixture in my life - or at least, as long as he desires. With a frown I realize we haven’t really settled anything between us before. We just easily fell into companionship, supported by our bond; but it seems my demon was in fact uncertain of his place.

Fen casts disinterested look at my bonded, and with some relief I realize he hasn’t heard Cole’s declaration. I am putting off these explanations, but truth to be told I would prefer to understand it better myself before telling him anything.

Fortunately he is aware of our somewhat conditional trust in one another, and for now does not pursue the matter more strongly. Just as I am aware it is only a temporary arrangement. Hopefully Cole and Imshael will have some answers for me before our inevitable confrontation regarding the issue.

Sitting down for the meal, I look at the two who hold a claim on parts of my soul with raised eyebrow. I am astounded by their easy camaraderie; typically they are pestering each other. But unexpectedly, when it comes to issues important for both of them, they manage to find a common ground. Suddenly, something clicks in my head and I recognise what I should have seen from the start - they are like siblings.

And now that I know what to look for, in hindsight it really ought to have been obvious. Imshael often wears the mantle of the more experienced, older brother; taunting Cole with his superior understanding of mortals and situations in general. Not that there’s anything surprising about that; we are after all most often motivated by the selfish Desire, rather than selfless Compassion.

But Cole responds to this with jibs of his own, deriding Imshael’s precarious position within society for all the understanding he shows. And seeing how uncertain my demon used to be, I am sure Cole’s words hit the mark with surprising accuracy.

But whenever it comes to my safety - or well-being - they turn to face me with unified front, putting their issues aside. And it appears that Cole has been, in fact, reassuring Imshael in my place; seeing what I did not care to look for.

I shake my head, exasperated with myself. As usual my social skills leave a lot to be desired.

Kirkwall greets us with stench and crowds of people, gathering from all over of Free Marches to find passage southward. Journey by the sea considerably shortens the distance to Ferelden, and with the political unrest in the region settled, people flock to the prosperous country - either to trade, or to settle.

The city has also been restored to its former… ekhm… questionable glory. No signs of the destruction wrought by the Mage-Templar conflict mars the streets anymore; fresh paint covers the rebuilt structures, but otherwise no sign of the past nightmares can be seen.

We settle in a tavern in High Town, garnering strange looks from patrons, unaccustomed to face elves as anything but servants. But we have coin, and that is sufficient to quell any doubts the innkeeper would have - and if the other customers stare at us, well. I’ve faced scrutiny for most of my life. Let them stare.

Once our meager belongings are safely stored away in the deposit box in our quite decent rooms, Fen and myself go to the docks to book places on the next ship to Denerim. Cole and Imshael depart from the city; Imshael intends to find a comfortable place to cross over, while Cole has some vague notion where he can find a spirit of Wisdom to question.

My wolf doesn’t comment on our sudden lack of company, even if his curiosity is nearly palpable. I think his relief at finally having me for himself with some degree of privacy far exceeds his interest in reasons behind it.

He expresses it quite thoroughly, too, once the doors to our shared quarters are safely locked and no one can intrude on us. Pulling me into heated kiss he proceeds to divest me from clothing with urgency quite unlike him.

With a startled laugh I return his fervour, and allow myself an uncharitable thought that at times the constant presence of my companions can be superfluous.

Come morning I languidly consider our next move. We have a couple of days in Kirkwall before our transport arrives, and I think about visiting Varrick. He has established himself as the Kirkwall’s Viscount and, quite unsurprisingly, managed exceedingly well. His precarious position as one of Hawke’s former companions has been offset by his contributions to the Inquisition, and his continued good rapport with Ellana did not disadvantage him. With Aveline Valen and Seneschal Bran both supporting him, he made Kirkwall flourish in the short time since his appointment - a no mean feat.

I would loath to intrude on him, but at the same time I am eager for some inside news from the Inquisition. Being cut off from the information by letting go of my spy network has been making me twitchy - and I have to remind myself that this state of affairs is only temporary. Only until Nervlis gets to my side.

Because me letting go of the reins was more of a publicity gesture and divesting myself of the responsibility, rather than complete detachment from Wings’ considerable resources. While I was preparing the official transfer of power, Nervlis was working his ass off creating a network within network, placing his trusted people at the crucial positions in Wings. I’ve no doubts that Arissar will figure it out at some point; but we hope to have enough foothold by then to anticipate his counters.

The thing that surprised me the most was that even without me having said so, Nervlis’ agents were solely of the Elvhen origin. I couldn’t help thinking that once again he had proved to understand me better than anyone; even than the two languishing within the comfort of my soul.

Thinking about the future introduces another topic, one I realize I need to discuss with my wolf as soon as possible. Helpfully my wolf reacts to the sudden tension coiling my muscles by waking up, his eyes blinking to adjust to the daylight.

‘Good morning.’ I lie my head on his bare chest, smiling in spite of the foul thoughts plaguing me. Fen smiles back, easing his fingers into my hair.

‘I could wake up to this sight for eternity, and it would never become any less appealing.’ His hand steadily strokes my head, and I breathe out some of my stress. ‘What’s wrong, vhenan?’

‘This is not a conversation to be had before breakfast.’ I murmur into his skin, trying to delay the topic.

‘Then allow me to distract you from whatever troubles you, and then we’ll see about arranging something.’ With mischievous glint in his eyes he grabs my hips, drawing me upwards and onto him.

‘Fen’Harel!’ I shriek in protest, but then he latches onto my mouth, drowning my objections in his passion. I attempt to squirm from his arms for a moment before succumbing to the intoxicating pleasure he brings me.

It is a long morning, which turns into early afternoon before we are once again fully dressed.

‘You are positively insatiable.’ I growl in mock irritation over the lavish meal my wolf has arranged for us.

‘I have centuries to make up for.’ Fen winks, glowing from satisfaction. I glower some more, but he seems unrepentant - and truth to be told, I am not in the mood to be angry with him. Not when I am just as pleased with the situation.

But thinking about being pleased makes me recall the initial reason for our lovemaking, and the scowl returns to my face. The wolf senses the change in my disposition and putting away the dishes looks at me expectantly.

‘Well?’

 _‘We need to figure out the Elvhen situation before anything.’_ Switching into Elvhen for safety I state unhappily, scratching with my nail the surface of the table.

_‘What is the problem?’_

_‘Everything. Anything.’_ My fists clench at the very thought. _‘The changes in the Veil will not go unnoticed, my wolf. Especially if the consequences of them will come anywhere close my expectations.’_

The wolf nods his agreement.

_‘And someone will finally connect you with everything. And once they do… Once they do, the Elvhen will take the blame. Instead of searching for you personally, the humans - and other races too, I suppose, but humans first - will reach to the most accessible targets they could pin the blame on. I know how careful you were to avoid any mentions of the Corypheus’ orb being Elvhen until everything was done and over with… This situation will be incomparably worse.’_

_‘Undoubtedly.’_ Fen nods again, without much emotion behind it.

 _‘We can’t leave them on their own, Fen’Harel. We just can’t.’_ I look at him pleadingly.

Standing up from his chair across the table he entwines hands on his back, walking around restlessly.

 _‘I can’t protect those who have no desire to be protected. They have cast the worst aspersions on my name through the ages; and most of them have abandoned their heritage to live under the human rule. And in any case, it will be quite an effort to spare my own followers from the persecution.’_ He lifts his tormented eyes to look at me. _‘What would you have me do, my Pride?’_

Fen’Harel tilts his head regally, awaiting my judgement. I have to take a deep breath, steadying myself. It is exhilarating - knowing that I have this powerful being ready to do my bidding. Knowing that to satisfy my wishes, he would tear the world apart.

I wish I were worthy of this.

 _‘Obviously, we cannot force our assistance where it’s not wanted.’_ I roll my eyes at the profound stupidity the Elvhen sometimes exhibit. _‘Still, I would give them a chance before forsaking them completely.’_

_‘It’s your call, Pride.’_

 The weight over my shoulders suddenly is heavier - it will be my word which decides fate of many countries. I always played unreasonably important role, but… It does not compare.

But there’s only one thing that can be done.

 _‘We need to create them a safe haven, my wolf. A place the Elvhen could call their own, live among their own, be ruled by their own. Embrace their customs and beliefs without persecution.’_ I stare at him without flinching, my words steady and sure. _‘We need to create an Elvhen nation, within the confines of an Elvhen country.’_

 _‘You know that means war.’_ He looks at me neutrally, without judgement, but I feel my throat suddenly drying up.

 _‘I am aware.’_ I spare a moment to consider my own hypocrisy. I have condemned Justinia for her willingness to throw Thedas into disarray because she desired to rebuild her Chantry from the ground up - and yet, here I am, suggesting the very same thing for my own goals. And even in the face of the war’s eventual inevitability it doesn’t excuse my readiness to paint the forests, plains and rivers with red once again.

I look at the decorative map of Thedas on the wall, biting on my lip. My eyes are drawn to the Arlathan, on the edge, what remains of the once great forest squeezed between Tevinter and Antiva. But I do not want to fight with Tevinter. It is selfish of me, and possibly disrespectful towards Elvhen traditions, but I can’t bring myself to care. I have done my best to protect the country for the better half of the century; I would hate for my efforts to go down the drain.

I would hate fighting against the people I once knew and had as allies.

I lick my lips, and say, avoiding looking Fen in the eyes,

_‘I think we should take back southern Dales.’_

There are many reasons why picking a fight with Orlesians is better than with Tevinter. The Northern countries have been weathering the Qunari storm for many years, with Tevinter as their chief leader and core of the defence. The last thing I want is weakening them in the midst of war; contending with the Qunari ideals of the social order in addition to our many other troubles would be just too much hassle.

Additionally, reducing Chantry’s influence is only going to help our cause. Not to mention, the crusades against Dales have been initiated by the Chantry, and there’s a certain poetic justice in bringing it down in retaliation. With Orlais being the biggest lapdog, it would always pose a threat to our kingdom’s existence.

And Celene has burned Halamshiral.

But I know in the back of my head all those reasons matter next to nothing; that my choice was selfish and self-serving.

Well, to the Void with it.

This is the choice I have made, and I will stand by it.

 _‘As you wish.’_ Fen nods seriously, and that is it. The scary part is I know he will do exactly as I asked. I swallow a lump in my throat, knowing that with a single sentence I’ve condemned Orlais. I’ve always hated it; and I was completely serious when I once said I would watch it burn and not raise a finger to assist.

Never have I thought I would be doing the burning myself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. The chapter is slightly shorter again, but I think you would rather have it slightly earlier than 500 words longer and having to wait till next week.  
> A lot of Imshael, some Cole, and morally questionable choices which country to invade while creating a refuge for all of the Elvhen. Are you as excited as I am for the ride it’s shaping up to be?  
> By the way, you didn’t really believe that Pride would completely let go of the power she’s had in the Wings, did you? She is not this charitable - or moronic. ^^


	4. Calculating...

I am rather certain that barging into Viscount’s office is not quite done, but going through official channels to arrange an audience would take too much time. So I settle on half-measure, writing a short missive about my presence in Kirkwall and ensuring it gets delivered. And if I rely on my Wings contacts to get directly through to Seneschal Bran, well. Necessity and all that.

Fen disappears in the afternoon, off to contact a local Disciples cell. It is quite some distance from Kirkwall and into the Wilds, so I do not expect him until the following morning. I offer to come along, but he easily picks up on my reluctance.

‘You’ve business of your own, Pride. Don’t force yourself on my account.’ Fen toys with my hair briefly, twirling the long strands of silver between his fingers.

‘If you truly do not mind.’ I ascertain once again, but he just sends me a chiding look before grasping his staff and travelling coat. I return to the letters on the desk - from Nervlis and Bianca.

Nervlis had sent message as soon as he could ensure it would not be tracked. Considering the unhurried pace of my and Fen’s journey it’s no surprise it found us in Kirkwall - but the messenger knew to travel to Ferelden, if need be.

My loyal servant reported the commotion my disappearance has caused in Minrathous. Apparently, Dorian was ‘none too happy’ with my abrupt cut of all relations and seethed a bit in spite of Minerva’s calming influence. Nervlis wrote that for all the imperfections, marriage seemed to agree with young Altus. He did not dwell on my departure for long; having received some unsettling news from the Inquisition. Ellana was asking for his assistance - with what, remained to be seen but it certainly spurned Dorian into action. Nervlis couldn’t find out much of anything about the issue, with Dorian displaying unusual degree of restraint and remaining tight-lipped. But he was well on the way of receiving a post as an Orlesian ambassador merely three days after my departure. A considerable feat, even with Tessarian’s influence behind him. It bespoke of his determination… And of the urgency of Ellana’s plea.

I had my own suspicions about the trouble Inquisition was facing; but I needed Varric to confirm my information.

The Archon was not disturbed by the whole thing, as I have made him aware of my general plans many months earlier when I met with him to relinquish my privileges on the Tevinter soil. They were a comfort that Tessarian had arranged for me many years back - like an authority to guarantee Archon’s pardon, or a seal with prerogative to call on any and all Tevinter’s armed forces for assistance. They were mostly for my protection and to assist me in spying on Par Vollen; but were also directly linked with my duties. I have asked to transfer them on Bethany, but the Archon only said that he would think about it once she has proven herself. His denial was a blow to Wings’ authority; but considering that I have used the right of pardon only once, and never called upon Tevinter forces, the loss was not one any would notice. Few were aware of it. Aside from the person I have saved.

How had Tessarian arranged it was beyond me; and I was unsurprised to hear that it would not be extended to my successor. 

Tessarian reassured me that regardless of my departure I would always have friends in the court, and that the royal family wouldn’t forget my assistance. As long as our goals did not oppose, I could wield the favour to achieve my goals.

I told him, smiling, that he should focus on his long-overdue retirement rather than worry about me. I would be fine.

However now, considering our planned war with Orlais, I expect I might be using this influence sometime soon. 

The other interested parties - Qunari spies, and the Inquisition - apparently went home with nothing; having missed the time of my departure and without any way to accurately discern my goals. I have been purposefully misleading and vague with my hints, and now it all paid off.

It is a weight off my shoulders that they have lost me; although it’s really only a matter of time before someone recognises me on the way and they get back on the trail. As proven by the other letter on the desk from Bianca - who clearly had learned of me through her contacts. Elves with waist-length silver hair are not terribly common sight, and I am done hiding myself. It gives me a sense of calm that I am no longer responsible for anyone but myself - for both Fen and my spirits are more than capable enough to hold their own. Arguably, I am the weakest link in our party - although if any of them dared to suggest as much, I would make him eat his words. 

Still, as long as the dangerous people are a couple of steps behind I am fine. Not that I wouldn’t be should it come to confrontation; but it is much harder to remain inconspicuous while leaving a trail of bodies behind. And for now my and Fen’s tasks require subterfuge.

Varric’s response arrives promptly; but Bianca requires more maneuvering. Normally I wouldn’t attempt to force their meeting so awkwardly but I need Varric’s friendly disposition - or to be exact favorable. He is always friendly, but it rarely translates into anything. He is too much of a businessmen to let personal feelings interfere in official matters.

So I drag myself out onto the streets and to Bianca’s temporary refuge, employing my considerable - if rarely used - reasoning skills to bring her around. I am quite certain she has at least generalities figured out by the end of our talk, but since I succeed in my persuasion I do not begrudge her the knowledge she has attained in the process.

As we make our way to the Keep, Bianca begins fidgeting, dragging her feet and in general expressing her reluctance. It takes an impressive effort to keep my irritation at bay as I patiently cajole her into picking up pace. I remind myself that not long ago I was in similar position regarding Fen’Harel, and as such I ought to understand her uneasiness. 

We pass through the massive door - gateway, almost - and enter an overblown reception hall, where a helpful guard points the way to viscount’s private quarters. Clearly we’ve been expected, and the lack of surprise at Bianca’s presence tells me that Varric had figured out my intentions. It is slightly disconcerting, being so transparent - but beggars can’t be choosers. With unflappable facade I brave the last door, mentally cataloguing escape routes.

The cozy room is surrounded by bookshelves. A fireplace casts a warm glow as wood crackles, and coupled with worn-down carpet looks… inviting. And out-of-place in these walls. The windows - imposing and large - are the sole reminder that we are still in the Keep.

Varric really did make this place his own.

The dwarf stands near one of the windows overlooking courtyard, his back in our direction as he speaks.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Quicksilver?’ He turns his head slightly clearly intending only a quick glance, but his true desire is betrayed as his gaze lingers on Bianca. Varric visibly forces himself to drag it back to me. For usually unruffled person his feathers were clearly… well, ruffled.

The problem is, Bianca is no better, startled like a deer upon hearing the hunter’s horn. 

‘I’m wounded, Varric. Wounded. You do not think I would drop by simply to see you, being in the vicinity?’ I opt for an evasive non-response while Bianca gathers her wits back. 

‘Yes yes, I am sure you are.’ Varric rolls his eyes on me and I have to hold back a grin. ‘Now, let’s get back to business. Why are you here?’ 

Somehow he manages to encompass both of us in a single question. Casting another glance in Bianca’s direction I bite back a few choice words I have for her, and answer with a ring of impatience.

‘I’m just a tourist. Bianca, on the other hand, has something to say.’

It finally breaks her stupor. Creators, if I knew that reuniting with her former lover would bring her apart like that, I would have gone about it differently. Well, no use crying over a spilt milk.

‘As if.’ The dwarven female snorts, finally restored to her sassy self. ‘You are as self-serving as they get. Don’t you push it all on me.’

‘Still, my business can wait. I think I should leave you two to reacquaint with one another.’ I force myself to say in a clearly misguided chivalry while everything within me squirms at the very notion of being denied answers for yet another day.

‘Nonsense. I intend on remaining in Kirkwall for quite some time, and your ship leaves in two days.’

‘You do?’ Varric pounces on her words and Bianca startles again.

‘Well, of course it depends on certain… factors…’ She casts a desperate look for help in my direction, but I just smirk and shrug my arms telling her to go on. ‘But as far as my responsibilities are concerned I have resigned from my position as a Paragon. There’s nothing holding me back from remaining as long as I wish.’

I grow distinctly more uncomfortable being party to a conversations so full of undertones and hidden meanings. Varric just looks at Bianca in disbelief and wonderment, and she grows more and more flustered. Losing my patience with the heavy silence I clear my throat, reminding them of my presence. 

‘Right.’ Varric shakes his head and focuses back on me. ‘So, how can the Viscount of Kirkwall serve the leader of the best spy organisation on Thedas? You have had even the Nightingale fooled, and that is quite a feat.’

‘One, a former leader. Two, Leliana had her suspicions, only neglected to share them with you people.’ I throw myself on the armchair without asking for permission, hanging my legs over the arm and letting them dangle. Varric raises his eyebrow at this ostentatious disregard for manners, but shrugs and lets it pass without comment. Instead he reaches to the cabinet, and pours wine into three glasses. ‘And three, you can answer a few questions and I’ll be out of your hair.’

‘I’m at your leisure.’ Varric toasts with a smile, and we clink the glasses, downing the alcohol.

I lay my head on my knees, consciously attempting to look as harmless as possible. Bianca purses her lips sardonically, far from fooled, but Varric relaxes his posture. He does not know me quite as well as she does. ‘The news from Minrathous spoke of some upheaval in the Inquisition, but I don’t have any details. I must admit’ I cough slightly, embarrassed ‘that I haven’t been paying much attention to what was happening in the south recently.’

‘Didn’t you cut all of your association with the Inquisition? Why the sudden interest?’

‘Varric.’ I can’t help the patronizing note entering my voice. He grimaces, realizing how ridiculous his question has been; and spreads his hands - yes, he had to ask.

‘I suppose there’s no harm in telling you, Flash; especially since you will find out soon anyway.’ 

Varric, Varric, Varric. So wise and yet so naive. I hold back a condescending smile, turning my gaze away. 

One of the most crucial features of the information is timeliness; hindsight is a perfectly useless exercise in self-flagellation. Even if I were to find out but a week later, it is still a week I have gained. I am grateful for your willingness to share, and maybe I will even enlighten you why you should not consider it so meaningless a gift. So that next time someone comes asking, you will know to reject them. 

‘Ellana wrote to me sounding pretty distressed. There’s likely to be an Exalted Council in three months, with the explicit purpose of judging the Inquisition. The details are still being arranged, so there’s no foolproof certainty, but...’ He just shrugs, instead of finishing.

‘My, my. So soon?’ I mutter to myself, cataloguing the information I’ve had in the forefront of my mind.

Varric narrows his eyes with suspicion. ‘You expected this to happen?’

‘Not precisely, but I expected  **something** . A large, unaffiliated force on the border of Orlais and Ferelden running unchecked? With its influence spreading far and wide in both countries? King Alistair and the Triumvirate would have to be stupid not to worry.’ I shrug, while my mind is running away with the countless ideas. Exalted Council. Well. Who would have guessed? Pursing my lips, I consider the best course of action.

Seeing me lost in my musings Bianca introduces a new topic of conversation, relating to the restoration works done in Kirkwall. Varric very enthusiastically immerses himself into explanations. They require no input from me, both of them quite happy to go on and on in regards to the machinery and possibilities awarded to him now that he is a viscount. 

Having finally organised at least some of my ideas I rudely break into their discussion with an unrelated question.

‘I would assume Ellana requested your support?’

Varric blinks, a bit thrown by my question after over an hour of silence.

‘More like my presence. I do not think Ruffles told her of my elevation when she asked Ellana to write; and she certainly  **was** asked. Ellana was quite forthright on that score.’ I can well believe him, the girl still has much to learn about things better kept to oneself. Still, his certainty is surprising. Why would they keep it from her? So that she wouldn’t feel guilty while sending her plea to the dwarf? It does seem a bit farfetched, and I look at Varric with question in my eyes. ‘There were no congratulations or well-wishes of any kind included.’ He adds matter-of-factly, and now I have to agree with the validity of his theory.

‘Ah. So they do intend on playing your friendship for their cause.’ I frown, thinking loudly. ‘A bit of advice for the courtesy you have given me - do not affiliate yourself or Kirkwall with the Inquisition.’

His eyes cloud. ‘Regardless of your opinions, I’m not leaving Ellana stranded.’ Varric interjects forcefully before I can elaborate.

‘Who says anything about that? Help her all you want.’ Snorting, I add. ‘The child is harmless. Just make sure to draw the line between assisting her personally and supporting the whole damn organisation.’

‘Out of curiosity - what would be the consequence of going against your words?’

‘Believe me, you do not want to go there.’ I flex my hands carefully avoiding looking into his eyes and making the threat even more explicit. One should not threaten one’s friends, or there won’t be many of them left by the end of this war… And yet I would rather do that than be forced into taking some regretful action against him.

‘You would kill me...?’ His voice is deceptively flippant, but I can see from his posture the inquiry is entirely serious.

‘Not at all.’ Or at least as long as it weren’t necessary, but polite lies are the grease of diplomacy. Besides, it’s not like I would  **want** to kill him - for one, Bianca would be after me, and that would complicate things. Not to mention I actually quite like him. ‘But we would certainly end up on the opposing sides in this brewing conflict. And Inquisition’s side is the losing one in this deal. You do not want to be among those who lost, Varric.’

Fear overcomes Bianca’s barriers and she grasps his hand with a  plea. ‘Varric, stop with this nonsense at once. Quicksilver is right - you do not want her as an enemy.’  

She really knows me well.

‘I was just kidding. I would never do something so stupid.’ Varric grins widely, but there’s a shadow of worry in his eyes. He was clearly testing me. The question is: why? ‘You know that religious fanatics are not really my kind of people. I have a healthy dose of scepticism, I’ll have you know. Besides, being on the losing side is bad for business, and Flash here said clearly which one is which.’

He squeezes Bianca’s hand, and she smiles with clear relief. I notice they have not let go of each other's’ hands and decide it is high time I allowed them the privacy they so desire. Just before the exit Varric’s words stop me.

‘You were rather vague on the issue what sides there are, exactly. Is Chuckles with you, by any chance?’

‘Perhaps.’ I smile enigmatically, and with a nonchalant wave in their direction vacate the premises. I got what I came for; now I have to plan the strategy.

The ship departs on schedule, and I watch terrifying figures marking the entrance to Kirkwall’s harbour getting smaller and smaller in the distance. Even the beauty of sunrise cannot make Kirkwall more appealing; it remains a ghastly, unpleasant place.

My wolf breaks me away from my uncharitable thoughts wrapping his hands around my waist from behind. His breath tickles my ear, and he announces with good cheer. ‘Admit it, you are plotting something.’

Tension leaves me as I sag against him. ‘Objections?’ I tilt my head to the side, glancing at him with widened in faux confusion eyes.

‘Not at all.’ He lifts my chin and captures my mouth in a searing kiss. ‘It is enticing on you.’

The huskiness of his voice makes me frown.

‘Fen, do be serious. We have limited time to achieve everything; and even more limited resources.’

‘I do not see any problems, at least on the Orlais front. The rest of it is certainly vague, but I could most likely win this war on my own, without any other support. With the Orlesian mages dispersed there’s none who could effectively oppose me.’

‘You are forgetting the Inquisition, Tevinter and those who remained loyal in Ferelden; but yes, should they refrain from interference, you could create a bloodbath without any assistance.’ I sigh and admit a bit grumpily. ‘ **If** the target was to leave the scorched earth behind; which it is not.’ I roll my eyes at him. ‘We need to live off this land later, Fen, so unfortunately this struggle will be more conventional in nature. Not that your support won’t be invaluable… But realistically, even you require rest in between to recharge your mana. Additional problem is that you can’t be in multiple places at the same time. No, before we begin, we need to gather the Elvhen who would join us in one place; to protect them from the backlash and have them support the war effort. We need more conventional army.’

‘We’ll get an army.’ Fen reassures me with his usual calm certainty. I narrow my eyes, noting snappishly.

‘And you are accusing me of plotting… What are you planning, Fen’Harel?’

‘Oh, you know me, this and that.’ He responds vaguely, laughing when I jab him between the ribs in frustration. ‘I’ll tell you more once something crystallizes more completely.’

I want to protest, but instead, bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut. I can only demand answers once I am ready to share my own secrets - and for now, I do not want him to worry. I wouldn’t want him dogging my every move - and as such have no right to do so myself. I ought to show him the same consideration and allow him to keep things from me as he sees fit.

In Denerim we part ways once again. Fen goes gather the results of some research he has ordained during his previous visit in Ferelden - before joining the Inquisition, almost ten years ago. I am full of disbelief that he could have something studied for such a long period of time; but then I recall he has studied the nature of spirits continuously for over five centuries. Ten years, in comparison, likely barely scratches the surface of what he has wished to know.

I on the other hand arrange for an audience with yet another influential persona - the elderly Eamon Guerrin whose son I have saved a while back from Corypheus's’ prison. He young man has recovered admirably, and apparently has been a great help in settling the fears of Ferelden mages and mediating between them and the crown. Much to King’s appreciation.

While I am glad for his success, unfortunately his achievements make Ferelden one of the largest threats to our mission. The Orlesians with their off-putting treatment have offended most of the mages, aside from the few flocking to Vivienne de Fer. Inquisition had chosen to support the Templars during the conflict, and that, too, meant there were few mages willing to work for them. But Ferelden has been considered friendly for most of the time - one of the reasons why rebellion mages settled in Redcliffe. They knew King Alistair wouldn’t raise an army to deal with them. And while most of those wishing to escape chose Tevinter, once the situation calmed the mages who took part in war generally settled in Ferelden.

A large, untapped potential firepower we had to be wary of. And while conscripting mages was not done very often, Alistair would find himself many volunteers if he felt his borders threatened.

I needed to make sure they weren’t threatened by the reestablishment of Dales or we would have too many foes to contend with.

‘My Lady. I have never quite expressed my gratitude for the immense service you have rendered our country and me personally.’ Former Arl of Redcliffe grasps my hands and shakes them with genuine warmth in his gaze.

‘My Lord. Think nothing of it. I’m glad to have been of assistance.’ I demure with a slight smile not reaching my eyes.

A complete fabrication, of course. It was a loss of ground in Denerim which prompted me to think of the hostages and the advantage freeing them would bring me. I’m not a bleeding soul to bring aid unilaterally and without hidden agenda; I can’t afford such latitude. There are things I want to achieve for my people and if I stopped to solve every little problem I’ve encountered on my way I would never get anything done.

The man is a well-versed politician, and is quite aware that I wouldn’t have come without reason. We exchange a few more platitudes over a lavish meal and great wine from his cellars, vague nothings as long as there are servants about. He apparently intends to give impression of a family friend coming to visit rather than a possible political transaction occurring; and I am not adverse to playing along and reinforcing this illusion.

Once the people are dismissed we relocate to his study, a room clearly designed to keep the sound inside. It is quite a technical feat and much less conspicuous than an upkeep of spells - but the cost of both designing and building it must have been astronomical. I settle on the comfortable sofa with a pleasant view on the courtyard while Guerrin wanders behind my back, shuffling through his library.

‘I finally managed to get my hands on the text we’ve spoken of in our last letter. With the Chantry strictures it is almost a miracle any of the volumes have survived - but considering the content I am unsurprised it had been banned.’ Guerrin passes me the book he has procured from some hidden stash behind my back, and I greedily pick it up, riffling through the pages.

‘I can’t believe you actually found it. This is priceless.’ I voice my disbelief, cradling the treasure against my chest. A forbidden text - memoirs of Cathaire. The man was no friend of mine, but a trickle of truth has made its way into the texts. He was less blinded than Shartan by Andraste, even though, ironically, he believed in her mission while Shartan had only his own interest in forefront of mind. It was enough to cast doubt on Andraste’s conduct; enough for Chantry to outlaw the book and order the destruction of all copies. I believed them to be thorough in their search; but Ferelden was were Catheire had made his home and apparently, where some of his texts survived.

‘Yes, it is.’ Guerrin admits readily. ‘But I doubt you are come sorely because of the book I would have sent you in any case.’

Not very subtle but I suppose it is time to explain the purpose of my visit. I stand up and begin circling the round carpet nervously while speaking.

‘The Exalted Council. I presume Ferelden will send a representative.’

‘It is in our best interest to do so.’ Guerrin nods sedately. ‘I wasn’t aware you were interested in the Chantry’s affairs.’

‘I have many interests… And both of us are well aware that had Inquisition been solely Chantry’s affair the Exalted Council would not have consisted of participants of at least ten nations.’ I counter evenly, and Guerrin nods, acknowledging the accuracy of my statement.

‘And is Ferelden’s stance already determined?’

‘I couldn’t say. It would be treason to reveal such information.’

I look at Guerrin, not at all discouraged by his words. Finally he sighs and looking down on the floor relents.

‘But in the spirit of our continued cooperation I have to say we are… troubled.’

‘Understandably.’ I murmur under my nose and look at him again. ‘It appears our interests in the matter quite coincide, my lord. I, too, would wish to see Inquisition weakened.’

He looks surprised. ‘You have supported them in the past.’

I wave it away impatiently. ‘That was when the threat Corypheus posed could not be ignored. And, might I remind you, Ferelden had assumed similar position. The situation has changed.’

‘Indeed. So the question is: how can we assist one another in achieving this common goal?’

I look at Eamonn Guerrin and smile dangerously. He returns the smile with understanding, an edge of viciousness in his expression.

Yes, we understand one another perfectly. As long as our interests coincide, we will remain united. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Quite a lot of politics in this chapter. I suppose it might be a bit boring for some - if so, I do apologize. The scene with Varric was rewritten at least three times with many different concepts - in one Solas was accompanying Fean'Na; in another she came without Bianca. But finally I have decided that Pride would wish to kill two birds with one stone while throwing Varric off balance enough so that he would betray more than he intended to - and indeed she has succeded on that account.  
> I hope to have the next chapter up sooner than this one; hopefully I'll have no difficulty this time.


	5. Accursed...

**Accursed...**

‘Why are we here, again?’ I measure the large, old trees of the Brecilian Forest distrustfully. While significantly diminished in acreage, this forest withstood the passage of time admirably, as old as Arlathan Forest itself. Something - someone - has been responsible for its long flourish.

Although, surprisingly, I can see beginnings of decay. The resilience I have expected to encounter is simply not here - or, to be more precise, not here **anymore**. An echo of a song, spell and power lingers... but no more than that.

‘Have I not mentioned?’ Fen smiles enigmatically while I grit my teeth in frustration. He knows very well he did not. ‘My people have been investigating a very interesting phenomena in the area, and have come to unsettling conclusions.’

I raise my eyebrow in surprised askance. The Brecilian Forest, aside from its longevity, has never captured my interest. Fen’s words mean that something has escaped my attention, which is, by no means, a common occurrence.

‘Due to an unfortunate incident, one of my Disciplines has gone rogue. His son was killed and his daughter raped by some humans and later committed suicide over it.’ Fen keeps a carefully business-like tone while explaining the situation while I painfully bite the inner side of my cheek. The situation is eerily similar to mine - as is her decision. She must have been truly proud - and did not have a friend to still her hand for her. What a shame.  ‘He has demanded that the Disciplines wipe out the entire human clan in retribution, but this kind of homicide was against the values I have been promoting. The leader of the Disciples at the time had refused, and enraged, Zathrian left the congregation.’

So far the story is tragic, but there’s nothing particularly unusual about it. I do not see Fen’s fascination, since such things were sadly quite commonplace after the fall of Evanuris. And while the situation improved since then, it is largely due to the separation between races rather than humans changing their attitudes.

‘However, Zathrian took some of my research on mortal and spiritual nature with him and used them ill. I still don’t know how did he manage to get his hands on it, it ought to have been secured away…’ Fen muses thoughtfully to himself.

‘Rage is a powerful motivation, ma’Fen.’ I say softly, recalling with a wince some of my own bloody achievements. ‘So, what did he do?’

‘Zathrian cursed them. Calling out the Spirit of the Forest and instilling savagery upon them, he transformed them into beings now called werewolves. Humanoid wolves capable of some thought and rationale, although limited by the brutality of their enforced change.’ Ferocious growl lowers Fen’s voice as he spits out with distaste.

‘What exactly were you researching, dear wolf of mine?’ I ask gently, moving my body to accommodate the suddenly nervous pace of my mount. Wise animal can instinctively perceive growing rage of a dangerous predator in the vicinity.

Fen’Harel glowers.

‘Something completely different in nature. Zathrian corrupted it, made an aberration of my work. It’s unforgivable.’

‘I understand. You would have never meant for it to be used in such manner.’ I murmur placatingly. ‘But what was it?’ I look at him beseechingly. Fen purses his lip and turns his head away, mumbling something under his nose. I can tell he wants me to leave the issue alone, but my curiosity prompts me to push him one more time.

‘You were saying?’

‘I said that I was trying to find a way for spirits to procreate with other beings!’ The wolf finally shouts at me, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. My own also become red as I grasp onto the implications. We quickly look away, unable to face each other.

‘Thank you for that.’ It sounds a bit forced, but my gratitude is earnest. Fen nods sharply, and we fall silent while our mounts cross the barrier of trees, following a thin trail leading deeper into the forest.

I’ve long come to terms that pregnancy is impossible for my artificial body. Centuries upon centuries proved it beyond any doubt; in spite of my long cohabitation with June I’ve never grown with a child. And the Evanuris could, beyond doubt, have children with Elvhen. Dirthamen had a couple of illegitimate brats running in his side of the court, although after he finally got together with Falon’Din no more were born. Apparently he remained faithful. June also had a child sometime during my absence before Twilight of Gods had begun, although I’ve never had an occasion to meet her. The girl had died before my awakening, possibly during the war? I wasn’t interested enough to ever inquire about her fate.

And even had it not been for the way my body was made and forced upon me, spirits in Thedas simply did not breed. They were born a physical manifestation of emotions and traits that were prevalent in someone strongly enough to find answer in the Fade. An echo of someone’s lustre. My existence, not wholly rooted in this reality, is - has always been - closer in nature to spirits’ than anyone else on Thedas.

I feel conflicted about the issue. I’ve accepted this limitation, and never really considered an alternative, but would I even want a child were it possible to have one? It would tie me down rather definitively to Thedas, if returning to Earth meant abandoning my own flesh and blood. I perceive it a mixed blessing that I did not have to make such a choice…

But I can see Fen’s motivation in pursuing such a research. He, without doubt, would seek things to bind me here - even if he was much more subtle in his approach than June, ultimately their goals were similar. I blush once more, thinking about this… And then remind myself sternly that pursuing this any further is rather pointless, for Fen clearly hadn’t succeeded.

We reach a small encampment near a softly swishing stream. The atmosphere in spite of the nature’s tranquility is tense. A few Aravels and crates cluttered around, but everything remains packed clearly ready for departure at moment’s notice. In the centre of the camp elves with lowered necks and red slash marks are being tended to by few medics, running themselves rugged with too many wounded to tend to. One of the females faints from exhaustion just as we enter the clearing, and the commotion covers up our arrival.

However Fen’s aura of power is too strong to remain unnoticed. Soon one of the worried-looking elves drags himself away from other duties and begins frantic apologies for the disrespect of ignoring my wolf in such manner. Fen impatiently cuts him off mid-sentence, waving away his justifications.

‘What happened here?’

‘The werewolves, my lord. They attacked last night again, and we suffered heavy casualties.’ The man cringes under Fen’s displeased gaze, but his voice remains steady.

‘And did you manage to find what I asked for?’

‘No, my lord. We suspect the werewolves might be holding onto the artifact; we have scoured every other part of the forest aside from their territory.’

Fen darkens at the unwelcome news, frowning in concentration. Deciding there’s little I can do to help him here while lacking any awareness of the situation, I decide to do what I do best.

_‘I’ll go on and scout ahead.’_

_‘Take care.’_ My wolf says distractedly, already turning to face his people in need. He begins firing orders with rapid speed, organising the rescue efforts. I can see how his sole presence and steady certainty reassure the Elvhen around us, visible in the straightened backs and more energetic movement. The camp at my back bustles with life, a far cry from the gloomy graveyard we’ve entered.

It takes me some time getting used to moving in the forest again after last couple of years in the cities. On the streets one had to make sure to blend in to remain invisible; small noises were easily cancelled by the constant hum of the usual activities of the citizens. Somewhere, always, a child was crying, a dog was barking, or dishes were clinging. Remaining inconspicuous while skulking was the necessary skill.

In the forest the challenge is much different. With the variety of bushes, branches and terrain creaks one only needs to wear suitable clothing to fit in. However, the slightest noise carries over far and wide, enhanced by the echo.

I quickly take off my shoes, dismayed by the rustle they were creating. Soon my feet are blistering and damaged, but lack of practice means that I can’t risk putting them back on - not against the werewolves. From the Fen’s brief introduction I have inferred that through their curse the creatures have gained not only the bloodthirsty nature, but also statures and senses to match it. And judging by the situation in camp, they clearly use them to their best advantage.

I cringe as another branch snaps under me, cursing my own inattentiveness and immediately dampening the sound with a burst of mana. Focusing again, I find a rhythm of shifting my weight by stepping on my toe tips, balancing my body on partial support. It has been a long time since I’ve needed to go to such extreme measures; and I am clearly out of practice. Regardless I manage to sneak my way past the first bunch of monstrous sentries and closer to the ruins Fen wishes to investigate.

As I get further inside, a doubt tickles my mind. It has been far too easy thus far… I had to pass far too few werewolves on my way to the inner parts of their lair. And there’s something else I am definitely forgetting.

But keeping quiet, oftentimes by withholding my breath, takes too much of my concentration and magic to consider these feelings fully. To appease this sense of unease I become doubly cautious, crossing the threshold of yet another vine-covered arc. The corridors lead further and further away and I begin questioning the wisdom of my coming here. Yes, I was intending to scout… But scouting does not equal infiltration, especially on such unfamiliar terrain in unnatural circumstances.

Finally I reach the center room, and look around in wonder. It used to be a Temple, the signs on the walls are unmistakeable, but whose? It takes me a while to sift through sketchy memories and place the familiar glyphs correctly. Dirthamen, of course. No wonder it was all so foreign - his Temples and disciplines were not open to outsiders, and I have never been inside one. Partially because it was so hard to deceive the guards, but also out of respect for the God of Secrets.

Even my infinite curiosity could sometimes be tempered by reason. Sometimes.

My thoughtful reverie is broken by the sound of door closing behind me, and the growling voice coming from that direction:

‘Finally you are here. We were getting tired of this little cat and mouse game…’

I twirl around, dismayed to find myself surrounded by the disfigured, wolf-like monstrosities. I curse myself for ignoring my instincts as once again they are proven right… Even the cursory look-around reveals there’s no escape route. The one I’ve had has been inconveniently cut off by a large number of creatures guarding the door. It seems I’ve walked right into a trap.

Obviously, the wolves can move completely soundlessly and I feel as if I’m stomping like a herd of giants in comparison… But as one of them takes a sniff in my direction I recall with a startling certainty the one thing I’ve forgotten - the one thing I’ve done nothing to guard against. Their sense of smell.

Careless of you, Fean’Na. Very careless. And now you will have to pay for your mistakes…

But before my heart can jump to my throat I take a calming breath and force myself to consider the situation. And take another few, again and again until my agitation no longer affects my perception.

The wolves have not attacked me, as of yet. Why?

Well, clearly, there’s something they want.

‘And here I was feeling sorry for depriving you of entertainment.’ Sounding flippant is much better than revealing just how stressed I am. But judging from the barking laugh I get in response, I’m not really fooling anybody.

‘Oh, believe me, had the Lady not wished to see you, you couldn’t have prevented us from it.’ The leader of the pack sounds annoyingly sure of himself, and I feel an overwhelming urge to wipe his smug expression of his face.

Unfortunately, I am entirely at their mercy and my choices are quite limited. I cannot really risk angering him at the possible cost of my life. Or at least my well-being; I suppose there’s a slight chance of running through them, although certainly not without considerable injuries. I carefully ponder on my options, as **she** comes out from between them. A beautiful sprite with hands and feet of vines, sprouting white flowers from between her wooden fingers and almost hovering above ground with her swaying glide.

‘Pride.’ Her voice is soft and rustling yet creaks around the edges, bringing into mind an old oak with its crown of heavy branches and delicate leaves swaying under wind. I am so fascinated I forget to feel surprised that I’ve met yet another spirit who somehow - inexplicably - is instantly aware of me. ‘I - we - desire to parley with the Dread Wolf.’

When her meaning penetrates through the fog of enchantment clouding my mind, I immediately grow sharper.

‘To parley you have to offer something enticing.’ I skip the unnecessary questions what they might wish to gain from this deal; I have my guess.

‘There’s an artifact that the Wolf is seeking.’ The Lady points out after exchanging a speaking glance with the pack’s Alpha.

‘Which we will get either way, so that is of no value.’ I counter blandly, and the dominant wolf bares his teeth in unspoken threat. I do not allow him to distract me ignoring the angry growling of the other werewolves surrounding me. They are trying to intimidate me; but I can’t allow any more disadvantage than my poor negotiating position.

The Lady shushes the wolves with one pointed frown and stretches her fingers. My eyes are drawn to the soft creaks of the wood and pristine white of the blooms’ petals, and I have to wonder what sort of being is she, really. An aberration of some sort, and yet somehow she feels complete. Clearly capable of independent thought…

My musings get interrupted when the Lady murmurs, ‘Surely, there’s something Fen’Harel could use the werewolves for.’

At first I nearly snort, rather amused by the idea. What use could such undisciplined and unruly group have? But then an idea enters my mind, and I smile savagely.

‘Perhaps… Very well, I will agree to play an intermediary between you and the Wolf.’

They let me go soon afterwards, sniping at my heals to hurry along when I do not keep up with their marching tempo. I bite back sarcastic reply that I do not find it necessary to extend such effort, especially in a situation which could easily turn hostile and require of me my full strength.

When they finally leave me on my own I sigh with relief and admit before myself that I can only count my lucky stars. This instance of my sheer recklessness and stupidity has ended up with little retribution. It is only my pride and self-confidence that had suffered; and I soon console myself that it is rather unlikely I will have to face opponents relying on their sense of smell anytime soon.

Returning to the camp of Elvhen I find it ready to move, Fen impatiently tapping his fingers.

‘What took you so long?’ He snaps irritably, mounting up without waiting for my response. I join him, replying dismissively,

‘I’ll tell you later.’ I need to construct an abridged version of the events, or prepare myself for a thorough scolding. Considering the blow my self-esteem already took, I am not particularly eager for it.

I do not manage to escape his censure; Fen easily picks apart the holes in my story and forces out full confession. To say he is displeased would be stating it lightly and we end up arguing passionately over the boundaries between recklessness and acceptable risk. Angered and fuming we reach the new campsite, established by the scouts right on the boundary between Brecilian Forest and open plains. Clearly Fen is preparing to move his people out as soon as his goal is achieved.

Parley between werewolves and irritable Fen’Harel is a no-mean task. The God is ill-disposed to receive them and his frustration with me makes him belittle my arguments in favour of the arrangement simply out of spite. My own temper is rising as I hear him countering my words without any real conviction, simply because he can. Still, I persevere, because the benefits I can see stretching before us far outnumber the disadvantages.

Yes, gaining the werewolves on our side would have an impact, both psychological and practical. Of course. But then Fen mentions their unruly nature. I reply that it will be in their own interest to uphold their end of the bargain. Fen reminds me that having untrustworthy allies in our midst would not only lower general morale, but also allow our enemies to stab us in the back if they managed to sway the unpredictable creatures. I snip scathingly that our opponents will be far more affected whilst fighting the unnatural monsters that the Elvhen’s unease over the truce. And add that I do not suggest we actually trust them with anything, just secure a mutually beneficial deal…

The argument stretches over many hours, and I talk my throat hoarse before finally making Fen concede. I am so exhausted I do not feel like a winner, immediately crawling over my coat and falling dead asleep.  

The werewolves are another problem in the equation, distrustful and impatient. At first they dare to suggest we uphold our part of the bargain up front, and then they will go on to serve us. I laugh in their faces, completely disregarding the fact that my life is once more at their mercy, surrounded by a circle of snarling creatures. Finally we reach a compromise of a gradual transformation, beginning when their services are called in.

We receive the artifact Fen was seeking as a sign of their goodwill. I can feel power radiating from the simple knife and the runes engraved in it are singing under my wolf’s touch. From the distance I can see a couple - something about dreams and seals and timelessness, but I would have to take time to study it to discern its purpose fully. However Fen seals it away quickly in a reinforced box with yet more runes carved around it, interrupting my studies. At my glance he grimaces and says,

‘It will be instrumental… Eventually.’

I nod, pretending to understand, forced to curb my curiosity towards its nature. I think Fen expects me to already understand what the thing is about, and I am too proud to admit I have absolutely no clue. I would rather suffer my ignorance in silence.

‘Of course, you are aware that once the curse’s nature is dispelled, it is gone forever?’ Fen says, referring to the unsubtle threats I made to the werewolves as we were hammering out the details of our agreement. ‘I would have to completely recast it, and if the werewolves hid away, I would likely never find them.’

‘Who do you take me for, Fen? I know my theory.’ I snort indignantly.

He looks at me clearly befuddled until suddenly a flash of understanding lights up his eyes.

‘Ah. But **they** do not know that.’

‘They can’t help being only mortal, and rather fuzzy on the concepts of magic.’ I comment leniently, but I know Fen catches onto the vicious undertone of contempt.

He raises his eyebrow, and shakes his head with slight disapproval. I tsk dismissively in reply. I have told him I do not trust the farther than I can throw them. In reality, had they not been rather useful to our cause, I would advocate for culling them all. Savage beasts, every last one of them - they have embraced their nature rather than fought against it. I could see the distaste in Fen’s eyes, and shared the understanding look with him when we were studying the nature of their curse. Strength of will was all that was necessary to control their animalistic urges.

Still, they will have their use in the upcoming war, and Fen is confident in his ability to achieve what the werewolves desire. Not that I have ever doubted his ability of doing so.

I turn around as our horses trot at leisurely pace in the direction of Orleasian border, and see a green-skinned sprite at the peak of the small mountain, watching over our departure. I have felt Lady’s desire to be free of her fate, and the desperation it must have taken to reach out to me. I dearly wish I could bring her along; alas she is the only one capable of keeping the werewolves somewhat in hand. She had to stay.

But we will meet again, beautiful one, I promise silently as her figure grows smaller and smaller in the distance with each step my mount makes. Finally I cannot make it out anymore and face the road ahead of me again.

‘To Halamshiral, then?’ Fen asks with a knowing smirk.

‘To Halamshiral.’ I agree easily, prompting the horse into gallop.

I might absolutely despise the city, but we have an Exalted Council to attend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the long delay.  
> Unfortunately, life interfered with many things happening like changing work and preparing for my exams; and later on a couple of harsh reviews left me completely uninspired and rather hesitant to go on. I can take criticism, and I know that my style is far from perfect, but hearing from ppl that they hate my work and I should never write again is just plain unpleasant and discouraging. In the end, I am only human and reading such things makes me sad.  
> There isn't much happening in this chapter but it was a necessary one to explain some things that will happen in the future - I could not just drop werewolves out of thin air and sum up their appearance with a couple of sentences, and they will play a part in the future war. To a degree.


	6. Disturbed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind that this story is an AU to Tresspaser. Considering that I have already made a couple of minor and one major change to the storyline (Fen hasn’t lost his Orb) you cannot be surprised that it will all continue affecting the story. Obviously the basic lore has changed (you know the things Ellana reads on the doors she opens with her mark), as Evanuris are not mortals and Fen’Harel hasn’t fought to free the slaves but to stop the war from happening. I’ll not go over the details since Fean’Na had seen it all happen. Also some other things might be changed to fit my story better… And some accidentally since I have played through Trespasser only once and awhile ago. I am using Wiki to support my faulty memory but mistakes likely will be made. I apologise in advance for those inadvert ones.

**Disturbed...**

Halamshiral is bustling with nervous activity. After days of eventless, quiet journey with both me and Fen’Harel lapsing into hours of meditation, barely a word exchanged, the contrast is staggering. Streets filled with people in various colours and emblems, associated with at least ten nations. Merchants are lauding their wares, making the best of the golden opportunity presented to them. Servants of the Winter Palace are running back and forth, desperately trying to accommodate the swarm of guests, both invited and uninvited. And countless guards in a whole rainbow of livery, far more than I could be comfortable with. Templars from the Chantry, mercenaries, knights from Kirkwall and Ferelden, Chevaliers from Orlais… I have seen semi-familiar faces of the Crows among the Antivans, and Rivain has brought along some shamans, futilely trying to conceal them among the servants - even though their tattoos would always betray their allegation.

One has to be amazed at the military strength amassed at this **peaceful** negotiations! Some wiser people than me have said that if you want peace, you need to prepare for war, and I can see that this credo has been followed faithfully by all in attendance. They are taking no chances.

Perhaps wisely, I suddenly think, narrowing my eyes as a clearly Qun agent passes swiftly through the crowd. To most he would be unremarkable, but my long experience with Qunari and their training methods had taught me to see the signs. I am unsurprised that Par Vollen has decided to observe the events here, as what happens at the Council could, and most likely will shape the relationships between gathered countries for years to come.

The question is, are they here solely to observe, or will they try to meddle yet again?

Even a cursory look around the town tells me the Inquisition is yet to arrive. After a brief discussion with Fen we decide to join Ferelden representatives, where Teagan gives us no troubles, remembering the debt of gratitude for releasing his nephew from Corypheous’ clutches. Settled in comfortably we go separate ways, each off to meet with their respective retainers.

The tavern is overflowing with patrons, some futilely seeking accommodation, others - gossip. Finding Nervlis in this crowd would have been challenging had I not used the back entrance I was familiar with from my previous visit in this god-forsaken city. Through the empty servant hallways I make my way to the second floor and easily break into the room I expect my second has occupied - the one with convenient access to the rooftop, which I myself would have chosen. Dropping leisurely on his bed I begin reading through the papers I pick out from behind a loose panel, and soon lose the track of time.

The doors click and I lift my eyes, briefly confirming it is indeed Nervlis before returning to the pages in front of me.

‘Creators, Fean’Na! Don’t do that!’ My second startles at the entrance, quickly closing the door behind him.

I smirk, straightening the pages and return them to the hiding place. ‘I’m keeping you on your toes.’

‘More importantly.’ I loose the mischievous look, sombering. ‘The Qunari really make me uneasy.’

‘They are rather close to the mark, are they not?’ Nervlis agrees with me, frowning.

I forget to be surprised that he knows as much, too engrossed in the unexpected venue Qunari suspicions formed. How do they know anything about Fen’Harel at all? Fen hasn’t been using that name for at least five centuries, if not longer. And mine! I haven’t been called Sola by anyone but him for… Well, extremely long. And even if some vague informations from the Inquisition have been circulating, how did they know to connect June to all this?

It is undisputably very dangerous. I don’t like it at all, and I would wager Fen will like it even less. We cannot allow this knowledge to spread, it is much too early into our plans.

The stage has not been set.

‘We need to know more. Reach out to our Wings’ contacts, if need be, I’ll owe one to Arissar. Use any means necessary to find out what Qunari have, and how did the thrice-be-cursed bull-people get a hold on all of this in the first place. This’ I make a vague wave in the direction of the reports ‘threatens our plans before they even begin. We have to nip it in the bud.’

‘Oh ye of little faith.’ Nervlis snorts with an air of offence. ‘Me and mine will find out anything that you need to know, without any sacrifice on your part. Rest easy.’

I reach out to catch his hand and squeeze it gently before he can leave.

‘Thank you, Nervlis. I glad to have you on my side.’

The elf seems vaguely embarrassed, looking down on our joined hands and mumbling.

‘Where else would I be, if not by your side?’

I just smile and let go, mindful not to fluster him further. Nervlis salutes stiffly, nearly running out of the room. Stretching lazily I go out through the window and up on the roof, avoiding the notice of the people in the bar. The night has fallen and few people look above their heads; traversing the city above ground remains the least conspicuous option.

Fen awaits me in the Winter Palace with a brief summary of the political arena that the Disciples have gathered. I correct what they got wrong, using my personal knowledge of the players involved in the game to my advantage, and soon a clear picture emerges.

It looks a mess. Ferelden is decidedly against the continued existence of the Inquisition, threatened by the force so closely tied with Orlais residing right on their border. They have not forgotten that they have barely freed themselves from Orlesian rule - there are people still alive who took part in that war. On the other hand, all of the smaller and more distant countries like Antiva or Rivain are all in favour of the Inquisition retaining their current, mostly independent position. Anything that disturbs Orlesians and Fereldens and weakens both countries works in their favour, after all. Then there’s Tevinter and Archon who doesn’t care for much aside from separating Inquisition and the Chantry. He sees the beginnings of a possible Exalted March in the force, and that the only obvious target is his country. I would be worried in his position as well.

The Orlesian Triumvirate - the ones who will actually make the decision - remains divided. Gaspard would love to get the Inquisition subjugated; Briala would rather see it disbanded. I may, or may not have suggested her that option as a preferable one for our cause. Celene remains quiet, clearly still judging the situation. I think she sees the dangers of all solutions and no clear course how to combat them.

But once we have shared what we know of the climate, I cannot delay the unwelcome news any longer. Fen looks at me and swears in words long-forgotten, ancient and out of use even when I first appeared in Arlathan. The situation is dire and requires immediate intervention.

‘I’ll have my people pool their resources together.’ He says tiredly, closing his eyes and rubbing his brow. I cross the distance between us and pulling him down on the carpet, cradle his head to my bosom. He sinks even lower, snuggling against my belly and sighing.

‘You know what this must mean.’

‘There must be a traitor among the Disciples.’ I say indifferently, running circles over his scalp and massaging pressure points to make him relax, even just a bit.

‘Yes.’

The intelligence Qunari have gained is simply too vast - long-lost in the midst of time, clouding all knowledge with ignorance - to be anything but a result of treachery. And it had to have been someone with intimate understanding of the situation, someone close enough to the events to have seen and known most of it. At the very least from the lore shared by the Disciples - how else June’s name would have been joined with mine and Fen’s?

There aren’t many possible candidates.

I hold him comfortingly through the evening, familiar with how the betrayal of one you have trusted cuts to the very core. In the long shadows cast by the moonlight I see a haunting image of Riv, and shudder, pulling Fen closer. I hope it will turn out to be some big misunderstanding, that the Qunari have found some other, unexpected source of information. But I am not naive enough to give these hopes much credibility, and I hold myself back from expressing them. Fen will not be happy to hear meaningless platitudes, especially since both of us are aware the chance of it is incredibly low.

Occam’s razor, my mind suddenly recalls through the fog of forgotten memories. The simplest solution is usually the correct one. And is there anything more basic, more common across all mortal races than betrayal?

The following morning after a sleepless night has us springing into action. Fen disappears to deal with the Disciples; I join Nervlis and our outfit in uncovering Qunari tracks. It is a couple of mind numbing days as I question witnesses, track agents and listen in on their meetings, going further and further up in the chain of command in the local Qunari unit until finally finding something unexpected. An Eluvian. An **active** Eluvian.

I look at the glowing entrance to another plane in astounded stupor, as the countless questions ring through my head.

How in the Void did they get an activation Key? Where did they find it? What is it doing in the Winter Palace? Where is it leading?

And then a horn sounds at the gates and Florentine who was standing guard hisses at me hurryingly.

‘The Inquisition has arrived! We need to get out before the Palace is flooded with people!’

It breaks me out of my untimely reverie and we run to the exit. I cast one last look in the Eluvian’s direction before sealing the large door to this unused part of the Palace. Exchanging understanding glances with Florentine we split in opposite directions. She disappears into one of the nooks of the servant pathways while I find a secluded dressing room and swiftly exchange my worn clothes into flowing, understated gown of Ferelden nobility. A touch of makeup and a headware to cover my silver hair and conceal my pointed ears, and I join the crowd of onlookers watching from a high balcony the procession of Inquisition forces entering Palace's grounds. They are welcomed with fanfares and splendour but I have to wonder at the undercurrent of mockery in this greeting. The concealed sneers and snobbish glowers from the Orlesian aristocracy betray a much different attitudes than the truly adoring crowd of peasants below.

The Inquisition has overreached itself in claiming privileges that were not theirs to have. The Inquisitor - not even of noble origin, much worse in fact, an elf! - has garnered an acclaim of nearly sainthood, an unprecedented sway among populace. Ellana will be judged for it, and judged harshly.

The judgement will not be just, but Thedas has never had much claim to fairness. The growing resentment needs an outlet, and as such the Inquisition is in for quite an ordeal, where they will be showered with spite and unkind words. The human memory is short, and rather than remembering that they have been saved just a few years ago they will remember Inquisition putting their nose in everything and everywhere. Making decisions on issues that were not theirs to decide; interfering and interrupting lines of inheritance and power. No, there will be no gratitude.

Which is quite convenient for me, so I am not going to complain.

As soon as it doesn’t look peculiar I back out from the gathering, and make my way to Ferelden quarters. Fen is yet to arrive, so I attempt to amuse myself with one of the texts on the ritual he is planning to restore the Fade back to Thedas. The parchment fails to grab my attention and soon I throw it away, and begin nervous pacing in the room, too disturbed to focus on anything but the problem at hand.

When some time later the doors click softly announcing my wolf’s arrival I am no closer to finding solution than I was before. Seeing the nervous energy radiating off me, Fen’Harel commands calmly.

‘Tell me.’

Taking a deep breath I plunge into disjointed explanation of my actions and what I with Nervlis’ people have found out. He nods with understanding, and his trustworthy steadiness soon pacifies my agitation. By the end I am almost serene even though his eyes flash with surprise at the news regarding Eluvian.

Fen remains silent for a while, and I keep quiet as well not wanting to interrupt his thoughts. Although I am nearly certain he will reach the same unhappy conclusion I did.

Fen’Harel lifts my chin, and running his finger over my lips and cheek speaks gently.

‘We need to split our investigation.’

I close my eyes and nuzzle into his hand and the illusion of safety.

‘We do.’ I agree regretfully. He kisses my closed eyelids, and draws me into a hug.

‘Be safe.’ A rustle of his robes and I can no longer feel his presence in the vicinity.

‘You too.’ I say into empty space of our rooms, finally opening my eyes.

Not having him by my side is strange. Even though we’ve always conducted our business separately, there was a time when we conferred and coordinated our actions. It was reassuring that I could fall back on him. I haven’t realized I’ve grown dependent on it during the last few months, and I grow angry with myself at being so malleable. And I get a grip and work harder.

It is a good thing I get a hold on myself because soon the unfolding events require my entire attention. There are simply too many things to keep track of; both Leliana and Josephine trying many different venues of influence. Even with Briala’s and Teagan’s full support, cutting off their attempts is a full-time job. Worse, they have Divine Victoria - formerly Seeker Cassandra - assisting them wholeheartedly, and in spite of her greenness in the game, Chantry’s influence is nothing to scoff at. I can only grit my teeth and count my blessings that it isn’t Leliana sitting on that throne. The Nightingale would have been a downright frightening opponent to face; I do not think Cassandra is fully aware of my underhanded manipulations undermining her efforts.

It is a very tricky board, and every step is treacherous. The Qunari continued presence is worrisome, even though they are careful to remain undiscovered by the participants of the Council. Their aims remain vague and undefined, and I can’t help a niggling worry about Fen’Harel. I have to believe he will be fine. Surely, nothing they are capable of could hurt him. Right?

My attention is split into too many directions and I feel torn. Countless reports clutter my desk and it becomes hard to decide which way to turn my eyes. Dorian with his consisting mostly of Wings entourage is here, representing Tevinter’s interest. I feel a burst of pride in him when I read in the report that he had apologised to Ellana but stated firmly that he needs to follow his emperor’s wishes. And then I forget about it as soon as I put the report away. Another brief message tells me that Varric has decided to follow my advice and declared Kirkwall’s neutrality while privately granting Ellana a property and harbour rights. Ever the friend, but much more cautious ever since countless lives depend on him. Bianca apparently hasn’t come, electing to rule Kirkwall in his stead. I wonder how did he manage to convince the foolhardy Kirkwallers to accept her appointment so easily…? But that is not important right now, and I allow the issue to float out of my mind as I turn to other matters.

Madame de Fer has completely lost her influence over the court with her lover's death in spite of achieving  becoming the Grand Enchanter,. She would like to pretend otherwise, and I smirk slightly seeing the officious advices she bestows upon both Josephine and Leliana. Soon, however, I dismiss her from my head. Even though reading about her futile attempts to gain in importance is quite satisfying, unfortunately I do not have time to indulge. With a twinge of regret I push the report away, and sigh, rubbing my forehead tiredly. The day just can’t end.

The next day I decide to stretch my legs and get a feel for the atmosphere, something I never can measure adequately solely through the reports. I drop by Teagan, who seems frustrated with the Inquisition’s tardiness.

‘Did they explain their late appearance by any way?’ I ask curiously the Arl. He snorts derisively.

‘Not at all. They did not even bother acknowledging that question, in my opinion perfectly legitimate.’ Teagan is fuming. ‘Such arrogance! As if we are not due an answer!’

Well, technically, they are not. The Council is yet to officially begin and the Inquisition is not even late - they merely did not come as early as was expected of them. Regardless, I hold my tongue, and nod sympathetically, murmuring.

‘The Inquisition has always believed themselves to be above judgement.’

‘Exactly!’ The Arl turns to me with a flourish, pointing a finger in my direction. ‘That’s exactly it! They hold themselves above judgement! This cannot be allowed to go on any longer.’

‘Of course not, my lord.’ I agree placatingly, inserting just the right amount of respectfulness into my voice to calm down his outburst.

Well, one thing is clear, I think to myself as I traverse the palace to Briala’s quarters. Something of serious nature must have happened, or else the Inquisition wouldn’t bother being elusive about the cause of their lateness. There is something they do not want the Council to know, else they wouldn’t allow the perception of their arrogance to spread. Strange that they would have found it preferable to truth - surely Josephine must know it hurts their chances of surviving this congregation unscathed.

Briala has nothing new to give me, aside of continued silence on Celene’s part. It is suspicious, and could mean a couple of things. Either the Empress has already decided the course of action and is in the middle of implementation of some plans - although Briala reassures me she hasn’t noticed any movement on Celene’s part. Another possibility is that Celene simply hasn’t decided yet.

Or there’s something I am missing.

I discuss that last possibility extensively with Briala before her duties take her elsewhere. Casting one last look at her hunched shoulders I decide that these past few years were hard on her. There are new lines of worry etched into her drawn face which clearly hasn’t had much cause to laugh, or even smile, recently.

Not much longer, dear friend, I reassure her silently. Survive this deadly intrigue for a while longer and then me and Fen’Harel are going to relieve you of your burden.

Passing through the crowded courtyard I literally bump into Cole who brightens at the sight of me.

‘Pride!’ He hugs me unrestrainedly. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Cole, I do not believe this is the right time or place for such effusions.’ I scold him lightly, but return his embrace, even as a niggling worry passes through my head how peculiar must it look to others.

‘Don’t worry, they will not see us.’ His smile is blindsiding and I can feel myself softening. Creators, I have missed him too!

‘Ellana was asking for you.’ I frown without understanding, and Cole elaborates. ‘She was asking whether I knew where you were. And I did know that you were here, but I told her that we haven’t seen each other for a couple of months.’ His mouth pout a bit as he asks. ‘Was that wrong of me? I knew that she wanted to know about you here, but I didn’t tell her. I knowingly told her something she would misinterpret. **I lied**. I have heard people say that lies are bad. Does that make me a bad person?’

His anguish washes over me, a figment of his being etched into me trembling like a frightened bird. I cradle him, both physically and mentally chasing away his fear.

‘Cole. I lie. Quite frequently, in fact. Do you think I am a bad person?’

He shakes his head vehemently.

‘It’s not the lies that are bad in themselves. It is their purpose that matters. Sometimes we lie to spare others anguish. That is a good cause. And sometimes we lie to hurt them.’ I do not need to finish the thought. The spirit in my arms frowns in concentration.

‘But Ellana really wanted to know where you were. I knowingly hurt her.’

‘Ah, but how would I feel if you told Inquisitor about my presence?’ I ask quickly.

‘You wouldn’t like it.’ Cole says with certainty and I pet his head in reward.

‘Exactly. You simply chose my well-being over hers.’ I let go of Cole, squeezing his hand one last time. ‘Why did she want to see me?’ I ask carefully nonchalantly, concealing the tumult of my emotions from Cole. I clearly must have succeeded, since no suspicion enters his voice as he replies.

‘I think there’s something wrong with her, or maybe she wants answers to some questions? I don’t know for certain, her feelings were quite disjoined.’

Or maybe it’s both at the same time.

‘Oh, but I found something. About the thing happening with us. Or not exactly found but… There’s this old spirit of wisdom. Apparently he has been around since the beginnings of time. Or something.’ Cole emanates with nervous excitement, and I ruffle his hair with a smile.

‘Very well. I will follow this lead of yours… But not now. There’s too much happening right now that needs to be resolved. But you could help in one other way.’

‘I like helping.’ His eyes shine with innocence and I am momentarily assaulted by guilt over what I am going to make him do.

Children ought not be made spies…

But then guilt fades as I am once again overwhelmed by the enormity of what Fen and I am trying to achieve. No, there will be many sacrifices in this war, and I cannot afford sparing any resources.

‘I need you to…’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. More politics. And the stage is beginning to set.  
> Trespasser, by the way, will be only a few chapters long and then we are entering epilogue times. I have plans... muahaha.


	7. Blindsided...

**Blindsided...**

The negotiations are proceeding at a snail-like pace, but generally in the direction I wish them to follow. Especially helpful is the enraged Ferelden representative, angered at being treated so dismissively. I wondered whether it is another sign of Ferelden complexes - they have always felt inferior to Orlais and are quite uncomfortable with having the differences between them emphasized. I wondered whether Teagan feels slighted, whether he suspects that the Inquisition had explained themselves only before Orlais, neglecting the other countries. I can see him thinking just that, and with the few pointed suggestions from me he remains convinced that everyone and everything is plotting.

Not that they aren’t, so he isn’t that far off in his suspicions. Only not quite the way he is thinking, but I am not about to enlighten him in that regard. Not when he makes so convenient of a pawn… A pawn convinced he is forwarding the agenda of his nation. It makes me smirk. To some degree, things remain static - whether in Arlathan, or here. The key is, and has always been in convincing people that what suits you is in their best interest. And then you can just let events to happen at their own pace.

And there’s little to no sign of your interference.

I am not confident about the result, but then who is when winds change so frequently? There are no guarantees in the Game. With Cole in the Inquisition I had most of my bases covered, and I felt confident enough to allow Nervlis take the reins in this venue. I focused my attention on the Qunari problem of the equation.

There was still no word from Fen, even after a couple of days. I knew that exploring the Eluvian and dismantling the defenses could take time, but I was getting worried. Still, having no more than a hunch that something was afoot was not enough to follow after him. Especially since we could so easily miss one another if that part of the Crossroads was vast.

I braved on, gathering scraps of information that came my way and trying to keep my uneasiness at bay. Until an unexpected visitor managed to sneak his way past the palace’s guards and straight into my room.

‘I would ask how you have managed this feat…’ I say, measuring my guest distrustfully. ‘But understanding the quality of local security from personal experience, I will refrain. They have managed to miss literal hordes of Qun agents traversing back and forth in and out of the Palace, what is one more agent? Even though you are remarkably hard to miss, I have full faith in their selective attention.’

Iron Bull smirks, crossing his arms. He is in full battle gear, including humongous battle axe and Qunari version of heavy armour. Which is actually spiky and full of holes and I can’t believe how effective it turns out to be when faced in combat.

‘Do I hear frustration speaking?’ Iron Bull rumbles with amusement. ‘I can understand that it might get tiresome, having to pick up their slack.’

‘It does.’ I nod, settling deeper into the armchair and observing him through half-closed lids. My relaxed pose is deceptive, as inside everything is high-strung and ready to act. I will not make the mistake of underestimating him again. It cost me the lives of my friends once before.

He remains calm under my gaze, fishing out a letter from a bag over his shoulder.

‘I’m just playing a messenger.’ Iron Bull shrugs as I pick up the envelope and open it, keeping one eye on him to ensure no surprises. But the horned man puts himself in a slackened pose with his hands - and most importantly, palms - visible, clearly indicating lack of bad intentions.

Inside the pristine envelope, the parchment is dirty and bloodied. It creates a strong contrast and I can already tell the envelope came long after the letter had been written. The words are formed with a heavy hand in a handwriting that remains familiar to me, even though it is smudged and strangely uneven in places. I grip the desk to steady myself as my breath runs rugged.

That’s impossible.

But the letter is here in front of my eyes, daring me to deny its existence.

_‘Little Shadow,_

_You have fulfilled my plea and have my gratitude. I should not ask this of you but I have no choice. Please. Take that son-of-a-cow Hissrad and guide him. He is a sorry excuse for Tal Vashoth and will not survive without someone to lead him. And I am unable to do that for him any longer._

_Smile._

_Valotaar’_

My fingers shake by the end, and the parchment falls out from in-between them. A hysteric laugh bubbles in my throat, mixed with tears that I do allow to fall. His order to smile has this tragic and perverse quality, and I can feel it is the last joke he played on me. I can almost see the self-satisfied, if pained, smirk on his battered – surely after long captivity it must have been battered - face. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the heat of unshed tears and pain in my hand, clenched so hard around the edge of the desk it is becoming blue.

‘How.’ I grit out through my suddenly parched throat, turning my blazing gaze at Iron Bull. To his credit, he does not ask needless question.

‘I found out that he has been captured alive during that debacle on Par Vollen not long after Coryphous’ defeat. The case of undead Tevinter Magister has catapulted me through the ranks. I was preparing to leave Chargers to Krem and take my new assignment in Par Vollen... But then a report about our research facility on Seheron crossed my hands. I could not resist at least a glance, and then once I’ve realized who exactly was the subject of those tests, I could not stop.’

Iron Bull growls and flexes his muscles, squeezing them. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he imagines squishing those responsible, letting out pent-up aggression.

‘I’ll spare you the details, but it wasn’t pretty. They were trying to figure out how did you manage to break his conditioning, and of course Valotaar refused to give a straight answer. Drugs, tortures, starvation… You know the drill.’

‘I even went through it.’ I murmur neutrally, trying to keep myself from imagining it all. Creators, I was there only for a couple of months! They were working on my Arishok for almost fifteen years!

‘But they were running out of patience, since he would not break.’

‘Of course not. It was Valotaar, after all.’ I snort derisively. Really, what did they expect? They chose him to lead their military for Void-cursed reason, after all.

‘He was one stubborn son-of-a-bull.’ Admiration in Iron Bull’s voice is unmistakeable. ‘In the report it has been stated that he was slated for liquidation. I could not leave him to that fate. And that meant I had to leave the Qun behind.’ He sounds remarkably calm when he explains what led to him abandoning the teachings that shaped his whole life, and I can immediately see why Valotaar thought Iron Bull would need me. He hasn’t made his choice because of his changed beliefs - he did it out of loyalty to his former companion and friend. There is no doubt in him that it was a correct decision, but he remains ingrained in the Qun values. He still thinks they are preferable to Thedas’ chaos.

I will have my work cut out for me.  

‘So I took my Chargers and staged a breakout. I will not bore you with specifics, let’s just say that we succeeded in getting him out in time… But at the same time we were far too late.’ I close my eyes. It is a blow, even though I have expected this. I thought I came to terms with this loss many years ago, so the sudden ache in my heart is unexpected. A punch into my guts, and I just want to curl defensively and path up this new hole in my frayed soul. I really thought I was over his loss… ‘Valotaar was already dying. I have split from the company and retreated into the Wilds where we have spent a couple of months discussing serious and not-so-serious matters.’

Iron Bull remains clinically cold, stating the facts without emotion clouding his voice. And I don’t know where to turn my eyes, unable to face him. Guilt wells up on me as I comprehend the magnitude of my failure. I have had the most extensive network of spies intertwined into Qunari military and yet we did not even suspect that he could be alive. **I have failed.** I have allowed my Arishok to slowly rot to death in captivity.

I should have known they wouldn’t just let him die. There has never been any official confirmation of his demise, and yet Arissar was so certain that his Arishok wouldn’t survive I have trusted his judgement.

Arissar. Nervlis. My Wings. Is it possible…?

And do I really want to know?

Unaware of the uncomfortable direction my thoughts were leading me towards, Iron Bull finishes his brief story. ‘He asked about you only once, confirming whether you were fine. I asked him if he wanted to see you and he said that he did not wish for you to see him like that.’

I nod tightly. It sounds like Valotaar. Pride was the ground of our understanding and I can appreciate not wanting to show anyone his weakness.

We fall silent, both of us remembering the man who brought us together. There’s no question about me accepting Iron Bull just like there’s no doubt about him deciding to follow me. And then Nervlis enters, freezing at the doors with sudden wariness.

‘Well?’ I prompt him impatiently, with a dangerous undertone. I have yet to decide whether to try confirming my suspicion, and his presence here is a temptation.

Nervlis might not know what put me on edge, but he certainly understands me well enough to not doubt my judgement. Especially when my nerves are frayed. So instead of annoying me with questions literally anyone else would ask in his position faced with a Qunari in the room, he just plunges onward.

‘A dead end. We have nothing. Not even a hint on how did they get a hold on the Eluvian, not to mention any more intimate details.’

‘Damn it all to the Void.’ I swear under my nose, massaging my temples to alleviate the growing migraine. We have followed almost every god-forsaken Qun agent in the city and found nothing on the glowing mirror aside from its undeniable existence in Palace’s innards. But why have they brought it here? What are their plans? How much exactly do they know? There’s still next to nothing on those issues, the information kept under tight lid by the higher ups who **have no contact** with their underlings. A sudden shudder of uneasiness shakes me as I realize the implications of it. They have no contact, because they don’t need it anymore. Everyone is already aware of their role; every detail has been long discussed and set up… Which means we did not get in the middle of an observation but rather there is an operation undergoing and we just stumbled upon less important threads!

I stare with unseeing eyes into the distance trying to find a way out of this conundrum. If the ball is already rolling... How can we mitigate the damage if we know next to nothing?

And then Iron Bull harrumphs loudly, grabbing our attention.

‘You do recall I was in the loop up until a year ago? There are things I can tell you.’

I note he said **can** and not **will**.

‘What is it that you want?’ I ask tiredly, hating myself and the situation forcing me to bargain with him. I couldn’t paint a clearer picture of my failure if I tried. Relying on an enemy to get scraps of the information which are a year old…

‘You will allow me to accompany you.’

I frown, surprised. As far as I was concerned, that was never in question. Valotaar’s plea was more than sufficient to convince me to take him on... But I suppose Iron Bull had no such guarantee. I nod my unrestrained agreement, prompting him on.

‘And a favour in the future.’ He smirks, seeing my sudden flinch. Nervlis growls slightly in the background, just as aware as I am that such undefined terms are the most dangerous. The agreement is almost painful, and to regain a semblance of control I add a general stipulation with a threatening undertone to it.

‘Within reason, Bull.’

The large man spreads his hands in faux innocence.

‘I’m wounded that you suspect me of such…’ Seeing my no-bullshit look, he shuts up. ‘Right, back to the issue.’

‘About two years ago a report reached Par Vollen. It spoke of unbelievable things. Incomparable magics unseen at this age, Elves who did not count their time in mortal years, and among them - one who would wish to rearrange Thedas to suit his needs. It cast a new light on one of our former prisoners and explained her otherworldly experience.’

I pale, hearing Iron Bull speak of my worst fears. Seeing my white face, the Qunari smirks slightly.

‘Relax. It was not believed.’

The ‘for now’ ringing in the air makes me only slightly more comfortable with the situation.

‘And the reason it wasn’t believed was simple - clearly the person providing the information was strongly biased against you. Reading them without proper distance one would have to assume that every misfortune that the elves ever faced on Thedas could be traced back to you.’

I smile faintly, not willing to risk my voice faltering in reply. Technically, the mysterious informator is not far off in their assessment. Obviously it is slightly overdramatized perspective, but for them to betray such information to the Qunari they must have really hated me.

‘Par Vollen was also skeptical about the purpose someone would have in spreading such information. In the end they allowed one commander to continue with her investigation, but gave her no special licence to act on her knowledge. Whatever is going on in Halamshiral is happening without their approval.’

‘You can’t know that for certain. A lot could have changed during one year.’

‘Par Vollen is slow to change their judgement.’ Iron Bull reminds me strongly. ‘Also, there’s another thing confirming my theory - nearly all of the Qunari in the city are from the same outfit. And the remainder act only as observers, not involving themselves in the action.’

‘Is that really the case?’ I ask Nervlis who frowns in concentration.

‘We haven’t really checked.’ He admits after a while. Under my glower Nervlis immediately nods his understanding and apology - they will get right onto that.

Though, truth to be told, I do not really expect the results to differ from what Iron Bull has told us. It’s just me covering all my bases and ensuring that we aren’t caught blind if he is faking it.

I consider the situation rapidly. The fact that Par Vollen is yet to be convinced about the validity of these accusations provides us with one-of-a-kind opportunity. Now, how to play this out...

‘Ah, one more thing. Apparently, your **blood** is the key to all Eluvians. I can’t say if it is true, but…’ Iron Bull shrugs. ‘They got it working, **somehow**.’

My blood…? But, how would such a thing be possible…

Ah. June.

I feel a pang in my heart as I ponder on this yet another way June found to express his feelings for me. I can’t help being touched - even though he has trapped me in Thedas, June decided to not restrict my freedom by any other means. I wonder when he had incorporated this change into the mirrors...

Perhaps Fen was more correct with his worries about my attachment to June than I would care to admit. It’s all those little gestures I encounter - Imshael’s existence, Eluvians and other tiny details that survived through the ages - that make my betrayal harder to bear. All of my previous relationships were fleeting and I’ve never treated them quite so seriously, but now, this thing with Fen is different. It has always been different. And again I can feel the same rage that drove me away from Fen’Harel blazing in my heart.

I owed June more. Fen’Harel should not have pushed me - this relationship - further before I settled things with June.

Gritting my teeth I force myself to turn my mind away from the issue and onto our current problems.

We need to shift attention away from me and Fen’Harel, as fast as possible. We need a scapegoat that will convince Par Vollen in their certainty of the reports’ exaggeration – at least for a couple of years. And that means only one thing...

My paradigms shift as my plans crystallize in my head. It will be hard to pull off, and I will need to call up many favours, but... It is doable.

‘Hissrad I need you back with the Inquisition, explaining the situation to fit our needs. Can you do this?’ I ask and the two males in the room straighten in attention.

‘I have decided to follow you until you prove yourself unworthy.’ Iron Bull nods seriously. ‘Your goals are my goals. Krem and Chargers are supposed to be a protection detail of some Orlesian noble and are stationed just outside of town. I do not think it will be hard.’

Yes, I also don’t think he will have trouble fooling Inquisition that he was with Chargers all along. He wasn’t Qunari best agent for nothing.

‘Wonderful.’ My mind races rapidly trying to take into account all angles of the situation. ‘Nervlis, in spite of everything I need you to get in touch with Arissar. And I am going to meet up with Briala. Now listen, both of you. We will play this out like this...’ They come closer and I whisper the details of the plan and fallback options to them. An argument happens where Nervlis is angry with me taking risks while Hissrad murmurs that he intended to follow me and not allow me to die before he learned anything. But I am unshaken from my resolve and after rounds of cajoling I manage to remind them that I have survived a lifetime without their assistance. Several lifetimes, if we count from their perspective.

In fact, I had expected more resistance to at least one aspect of my plan. Surprisingly, Iron Bull is reconciled to the massacre of Qun’s agents I am planning. I suspect he expected nothing else even before he has offered his information up for my needs.

Skipping my way to Briala’s quarters I am in a much better mood. Finally, things are getting somewhere; finally we are not quite as blind as before. While the identity of our traitor remains as mysterious as ever – at least now I can tell Fen with almost full certainty that it couldn’t have been one of the Disciples. The knowledge that person has far exceeds anything the Disciples have ever known – in fact it exceeds mine and Fen’s knowledge as well.

Briala’s quarters are in disarray. I can’t say whether it is an arrival of the Inquisition or the power-play she is currently having with Gaspard. There is something sinister in the air, however, and the distrustful glances sent my way make me ask something I would refrain from on any normal day, preferring to find out on my own.

‘I hate to pry but your people are a bit... high strung, today.’ I note upon entrance to Briala’s office and sanctuary. ‘If you wish to pretend nothing has happened, I would tell them to be less jumpy. Currently their behaviour screams of unnatural.’

‘I know.’ Briala spreads her hands helplessly. ‘But I can’t really blame them.’ She looks me straight in the eyes. ‘There was another assassination attempt, today. They almost got me, right in this room.’

Now that I look for it, I notice the slight tremors of her hands, and a red stain on the carpet. It nearly blends in with its natural colour and they did a half-decent job covering it with the table, but once one knowns it ought to be there it is easily recognizable. Clearly Briala is far from fine, and impulsively I exercise the rare empathy, crossing the distance between us and reassuringly patting her hand.

‘Not much longer, I promise.’ I whisper, casting a dampening spell for good measure. There are ways of magically listening in to people’s conversations, and this is the one thing I cannot allow anyone to find out. ‘Just a couple more years.’

‘I will be fine.’ Briala whispers back but her fingers desperately clench around mine and once again I am regretful that we cannot get her out of this terrible situation Ellana placed her in just yet. Unfortunately, countless lives rely on her remaining where she is now; and our plans would get delayed if she lost it. Even if she should sacrifice her life for the cause I cannot afford pulling her out.

‘Now.’ Briala straightens up and her voice loses the slight tremor it held. ‘I doubt you have come simply to reassure my inconsequential worries, so please, go on ahead. How may I be of service?’

As I lay down the next steps of the plan where her role comes in, Briala questions me.

‘Are you quite sure? I thought you wished them out of the way.’

‘I did.’ I admit easily. ‘But it is far more important to throw Par Vollen off track than follow through with our initial plans. We have to finish preparing for war with as little obstruction as possible.’

Briala’s eyes flash dangerously at my confirmation of the inevitability of the war. In our conversations, thus far I was more elusive, and tended to keep things close to my chest. Now, however, as I need her closer assistance I cannot afford to keep her in the dark anymore.

‘This should work.’ Briala agrees with me as I explain further details of the plan. ‘The time frame is a bit tight, but with the assistance of Wings I should be able to pull it off.’

‘I am relying on you, then.’ I smile gratefully and return to my quarters.

Sleep comes hard this night, my nerves to rattled and my mind too active. I am alight with both anticipation – things were getting a touch too stagnant – and worry as countless ways in which things can go wrong disturb my peace. Finally, I down a sleeping potion, deciding to risk it and rely on my security for a change rather than be tired the following day.

First rays of light find me near Eluvian. A few of Nervlis’ agents are there as well, the one concession I have allowed to alleviate some concerns of his. Feeling a bit strange I come to the closed mirror and cutting through my finger I press it to the metal surface. At first nothing happens, but then a ripple is created, centered around the bloody print I have left. And in the aftermath of this ripple the metal stops reflecting us and instead open a pathway.

Even though it was expected, I am amazed it really worked.

But time is tight and I exchange understanding glances with my companions.

‘Make sure no one who escapes lives to tell the tale.’ I remind the backguard one last time and cross the threshold of Crossroads. _Cole._ I send through our bond. _Remember, no earlier than midday._

_I remember. The sun must be straight above us before I tell Leliana anything._

_You are a marvel._ I send the thought back before our connection fades, weakened by the distance as we materialize in Crossroads.

Well. It all looks strangely familiar...

And I’ve been saying this too much lately, but where – when – have I seen this last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up until very end I was undecided whether I was killing Iron Bull or Valotaar. I am serious - I loved Valotaar so much it was very hard finally letting him go. I liked adding personality to that surly Arishok we saw in Kirkwall and I always thought he looked way vcooler than Sten or Iron Bull (just saying the desing was magnificent). There were many other scenarious (some I have even written out, partially) with Valotaar surviving, Fean'Na being the one getting him out of Seheron, Valotaar dying of wounds during escape, et cetera. In the end, however, the easiest way to make story flow was having Iron Bull survive - so that's what you are getting.  
> And yes, I am a bit sad about Valotaar dying - since, as opposed to you, I knew he was alive.  
> How many of you can guess who is the traitor this time? Any suspects? Hint - it is not an unknown character. Also any suspicions what Fean'Na is planning to deflect attention? There are plenty of hints in this chapter, methinks.  
> I don't know whether I will manage a chapter this week since I do have a wedding to attend next weekend which I have to reach first which means my free time will be cut drastically. Still, fingers crossed, I will have it up. Cheers and I love each and every one of you who left their review behind. Special thanks to SophieValentine and I am glad that you lot are still enjoying this story.


	8. Revealing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: some sentences within the chapter are from Trespasser DLC. Trespasser belongs to Bioware.

**Revealing...**

The view from the cliff is breathtaking. A vista of rivers and bountiful plant life, and forbidding defensive structures etched into cliffs or simply cast into the air looming over treasures below. A flock of birds startles and takes off with a wailing cry, and a sound of many hooves echoes in the distance. A scene of deceptive tranquility, I note, as the ramparts of the fortress above it all are scorched with residue of magic and gunpowder.

I have never seen this part of the Crossroads, but the markings make it easy to determine that it has been either created or remade long after I’ve stopped traversing June’s realm. Fascinated, I trace the lines pulsing with power that have kept this place in its untouched state. It screams of Fen, and I hadn’t known he had torn this piece of realm away from June.

But why do I feel a distinctive, steely undertrace among the cool power that is Fen’s? Clearly, he had assistance, and I rack my brain trying to place this presence as I motion my people to get a move on. We have but a couple of hours to fulfil my plans and lead Inquisition in the right direction... Though I am certain they would say I was leading them astray, had they but known particulars of my scheme.

The Qunari had retaken these passes, but I can see signs that Fen has easily made it through their ranks. Only a few warriors remain alive of what must have been quite a large outfit. My wolf clearly decided not to waste his time rounding up the survivors. Unfortunately I do not have such luxury if I wish for my plans to come across, even if slaughtering half-disabled, wounded people brings me no pride.

Once I leave behind clear signs of our presence as well as a letter which Iron Bull himself had written, we pass through another Eluvian proceeding further into the citadel. I forcefully keep my mind on my immediate tasks rather than dwelling on the masterfully crafted runes and sculpted passaged which scream of Arlathan’s former glory and power. My eyes are bright in unshed tears as I keep my hands to myself rather than tracing the polished marbles and mosaics. It has been centuries since I’ve last seen anything so… deliberately perfectionist, even to the tiniest detail. It has been centuries since I’ve felt my guilt so keenly.

Angrily brushing tears away I pass through yet another passage. Shadowy guardians of this place - reawakened from their slumber by Fen - let us pass without fuss. My wolf wasn’t taking any chances, even though I was not, in fact, supposed to follow after him - he still ensured no harm could come my way from his hand. It warms my heart that even in the midst of this crisis he had me in the forefront of his mind.

We traverse the citadel with haste, soon finding way down and discovering that the Qunari had brought along a dragon to help them even the odds. Even I have to admit that this would give Fen pause, should he have to confront it along with the Qunari troops. For a while I consider whether to attempt and deal with it myself, only to realize that this wouldn’t be beneficial for my plan. Not beneficial at all, since killing it would give proof to Inquisition’s future claims as to how dangerous we really are.

Biting my lip I skulk in the shadows on the roof considering our options, while my Wings keep a lookout around. Had Fen left the creature alone for some reason, or was it brought here after his passage? And if so, how did they manage such a feat without anyone noticing? Somehow I doubt they made their way through the Eluvian in Winter Palace.

It throws a considerable wretch into my careful planning. I have decided to admit partial truth in the letters Iron Bull prepared. It was very tempting to present a completely opposing view but the likelihood that the Inquisition would encounter a Qunari who could disclaim it was too high to take such chance. I was fully aware that the strongest deception was one who held a high degree of truth to it with only small, seemingly unimportant details skewed astray. Unfortunately, now because of my own actions the Inquisition had nearly as much knowledge about Fen as the Qunari did. A calculated risk, but one that could spectacularly backfire now that I saw this dragon.

I bite back curses bubbling in my throat and retrace our steps back to the Winter Palace. Suddenly we are more pressed on time than ever, and forgetting my surroundings is easier than breathing. I can feel the dread running up my spine… Fortunately one of my scouts finds us a shortcut which makes it impossible to run into the Inquisition, should they have already managed to find their way here. I do not think they’ve already begun, but it is hard to judge the passage of time when one is removed from the reality.

Fortunately it is still two hours till midday and Cole is yet to begin his task. I rush Iron Bull to prepare a couple of faux letters stating the Qunari goals to attack this peaceful gathering. Preposterous, but he has told me the Qunari have attacked Ellana herself on the way to this Exalted Council. Apparently her good rapport with Fen has established her firmly as his ally in Qunari’s eyes… Which makes my desperate stunt somewhat believable.

I leave it to him and frazzled-looking Nervlis to ensure these messages reach Inquisition in at least partially believable circumstances, diving back into the Eluvian as soon as I confer with Cole and push his task for a later date. I need all the time in the world now to achieve what needs to be done…

My entourage is vastly diminished now. I had initially intended on bursting through the Qunari defences, allowing for no survivors to deny our version of the events to cloud Inquisition’s minds. However in the face of a Void-damned **dragon** there had to be some… adjustments to the idea. The offensive mission suddenly becomes an exercise in stealth as we make our way through the fortress, leaving the clues for the Inquisition in the not-very-obvious places, yet where they ought to be easily found. And where the Qunari will not notice them, either, although the intruders to Fen’s realm are rather preoccupied in keeping the dragon subdued.

Relying on subterfuge rather than brutal strength has unfortunate consequence in slowing down our progress. Soon I am forced to confront the inevitability of the fact that I will not find my wolf before the Inquisition finds me, and thus I will not be able to ensure our stories are kept straight. I will have to rely on his instinct and his knowledge of the way I operate to wade through these treacherous waters… and hope for the best.

It is fortunate that he knows me better than I know myself. Although I would vastly prefer to not rely on such flimsy reassurance.

The stress finally catches up with us. One of my Wings makes a mistake which reveals us to the Qunari on one of the floating islands in the skies. They were set up as a defence perimeter, so in a way it is only fitting we would not be able to sneak our way through, I admit grumpily… And twirl away from the javelin thrown my way by one of the Qunari.

The fight is dirty and exhausting, especially after hours upon hours of running and sneaking and straining my muscles as I moved on the tips of my toes. My Wings are in better shape since I’ve left them mostly to guarding duties, unwilling to take chances this late in the game. Fortunately, since I have my hands full fending off this damn mage of theirs - Saarebas. Even looking at his sewn together lips disgusts me. It is incomprehensible how one could allow themselves to be subjected to such humiliation.

He sends magic missiles my way and I dodge three of them while shielding myself behind the wall from the last two. I dance around him, finding my inner tempo and slowly calming down the erratic beat of my heart as the steps begin coming together. The Sareebas is irritatingly proficient with his aura, rendering my string useless. Its magic falters while confronted with his barrier and it becomes merely a lyrium strand on the ground. But as the Qunari form defensive formation in response to my Wings individualism, I complete the pattern I was shaping on the ground. It costs me, his lightning singing my back as I drop on my knees and activate the glyph with a drop of blood and hushed command. It cages the mage and his magic, and allows Florentine to shoot him down from the distance.

I am about to join my Wings in their assault on the Qunari formation when the Eluvian across the field flickers with power, and the Inquisition stumbles through it. I purse my lips thinking that the timing could hardly be worse. While they are unaware - or so I hope - of our conflicting agenda, I am decidedly unhappy with being vulnerable in their presence. Alas. I need to take this risk and count on Ellana’s holier-than-thou attitude to not strike me in the back.

Qunari themselves resolve my fears immediately attacking the still confused Inquisition. It is an instinctive reaction on their part, attempting to neutralize the new threat before they regain my bearing - a warrior’s answer - but a profoundly stupid one. It splits their focus in two, and their defensive formation is half its strength. Without the Saarebas to occupy my attention I lead the charge, breaking through their ranks with ease as my silvery string swirls around with deadly accuracy, finding crooks and nooks in their armours and living bloody wounds behind.

Needless to say the skirmish is soon over.

‘Mother.’ I’m distracted from my careful assessment of the field by a female voice. I can feel my features drawing into a courtly mask as I turn around and face my wayward daughter.

‘Valeria. What an unexpected surprise.’ The blandness of my tone borders on blatant irony, and Valeria blinks a few times, astounded. Behind her Blackwall minds his equipment indifferently while Madame de Fer and Ellana glower with unrestrained enmity in my direction. Dorian on the side whistles softly in recognition, but other than that makes no move in acknowledgement.

‘What are you doing here?’ Valeria’s voice is not quite accusing, but unveiled suspicion makes me smile in self-depreciation. How did we end up here, again, that the child I’ve been raising is so vehemently distrustful of my motives?

Then again, I really should get off my high horse, since she is entirely correct.

‘The same thing you are doing, I suspect. Looking for Solas.’ I shrug even as Valeria narrows her eyes at my unexpectedly straightforward answer. ‘I’ve come across a Qunari plot aimed against him and with an additional threat of a dragon, of all things, I did not wish for him to spring the trap.’

The marvelous thing about selective truth - it cannot be denied. Even though Valeria must be certain that I am not telling everything, there’s simply no way for her to demand more.

‘The dragon is no longer a concern.’ Madame de Fer interrupts haughtily. ‘And I cannot fathom why you would assume this was aimed against the apostate. We’ve come across documents pointing towards a planned assassination of heads of state gathered for the Exalted Council. You are not quite as important as you would presume, elf.’

I smile lightly, aware that saying too much would only do me disfavour.

‘If you say so.’ I reply dismissively and flip my hand summon my Wings back. The wounds they have suffered are mostly superficial, but I do not discount them. With a frown I send a few of them back through the path, kindly cleared by the Inquisition for us. Only Florentine and one other remain stuck by my side, and she shakes my head in response to my raised eyebrow.

‘I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed you to proceed on your own, my lady.’ Her tone is respectful but I can hear the stubbornness behind it. Clearly Nervlis left her no room to maneuver out of this responsibility.  

One day I will have to discuss with him his outrageous insubordinations, I decide wryly. This one, and those that came before it.

The Inquisition’s squad confers in lowered voices in obvious disagreement how to deal with the situation. Instead of allowing them to get a grasp on reality I proceed to the next Eluvian in chain, this one leading us to a new battlefield. It is littered with stone sculptures of Qunari in various poses with this distinctive mark of Fen’s magic. In the distance my wolf is keeping a veritable army at bay, slowly picking them one after another as their attacks futilely bounce away from his glowing aura or are dodged with efficiently economic moves. Even in this circumstances I pause for a second admiring the fluidity of his motions and calm certainty as he proceeds to methodically wipe out his opponents.

Regardless of whether my help is truly necessary I jump into the fray. Fade stepping behind the enemies I raise my deadly string into the air, whipping and slashing with deadly accuracy. My unexpected arrival throws them into disarray, and backed by the arrows from my Wings we dispatch of all enemies but last squadron, the Qunari commander surrounded by her best elites.

‘Your forces have failed.’ Fen states dispassionately. The horned woman growls in anger but he continues unfazed. ‘Leave now and tell the Qunari to trouble me no further.’

The qunari female struggles with herself and the decision to make when the Eluvian fluctuates and the Inquisition forces arrive on the scene. They certainly took their sweet time…

‘Be careful what you speak of.’ I warn Fen quietly and he nods sharply, lacing his fingers with mine and squeezing them in reassurance. We haven’t had any time to talk freely and I can only hope this meagre warning will be enough for the complicated role I’ve given him.

Though it is only as complicated as he makes it to be - for I only wish for him to reveal the truth. An abridged truth, but truth nonetheless.

As I brace myself for the upcoming confrontation with the Inquisition the Qunari warriors suddenly strike at us, in spite of Fen’s benevolence. Truth to be told it’s a a bit of relief, since I wasn’t really keen on letting them go - but I am not particularly relieved when a javelin impales itself centimeters from me, as I am saved by Fen’s quick reflexes jerking me out of the way. Careless of the approaching Ellana and her companions I unleash my wrath upon them, secure in the cloak of Fen’s might. They can’t touch me, and I take full advantage of this fact mercilessly slashing them apart. Just seconds before the new arrivals reach us I squeeze my string around the throat of Qunari commander, cutting through her weak tissue and spine.

Ellana jumps slightly when the dismembered head rolls down the steps next to her.

Emotionlessly I recall my string to my side, twirling it defensively around my arm and waiting for them to speak, impervious by Fen’s side. The Herald looks at a loss for words, casting astonished - and yes, fearful - glances about the carnage surrounding us. Fen tilts his head patiently, veiled in majestic calm. Even for me his face is now unreadable.

‘The Qunari said you are an agent of Fen’Harel. That the Inquisition has been acting in compliance with his goals.’ Finally the Inquisitor finds her words, and I want to snort in derision.

Seriously. I left them so many hints, and yet she remains clueless…

Valeria actually does snort, attracting our attention. With so many eyes upon her she shifts uneasily, muttering, ‘Do you really not know?’

With Ellana’s pointedly raised eyebrow she sighs and elaborates. ‘The answer has been clear right from the beginning, and you would have guessed it as well if you looked closely enough, Inquisitor. Remember?

Once upon a time there was a wolf as wild as he was free and as selfish as he was mischievous. And there was Pride, Pride who sang songs of honour and dignity, in a golden cage of the Golden God in the white city of Arlathan…’

I bite my lip as the words of legend roll from her tongue with familiar ease. Ellana appears shaken and looks up at my wolf shock making her stutter.

‘Then… that… that means… You are Fen’Harel.’ And turning to me, she adds. ‘And you are the Pride from legends.’

‘To a degree.’ I reply whimsically. ‘She grew larger than life, really.’ Ellana shakes her head in disbelief, glancing surreptitiously in Valeria’s direction. But I am also curious, though not very surprised that my daughter pieced it all together.

‘How long have you known, Da’len?’ I ask gently and Valeria grimaces.

‘It was inevitable I would become suspicious.’ She says matter-of-factly. ‘You must have expected it, Mamae. You have raised me from a youngster, and yet now I look your elder. There must have been questions, at some point.’

I take note that she is evasive, and do not press her to admit more. Clearly it is a sore point - perhaps related to her reasons for abandoning Wings, and myself. Now is not the time to go into details, especially since Ellana suddenly screams in pain, falling to her knees as a green glow engulfs her arm.

Fen’Harel takes two steps down and raises his hand, with two nearly indiscernible gestures extinguishing the magic pouring out of her mark. With a soft sigh, he allows.

‘I suppose you have questions.’

Ellana raises from the ground with confusion marring her pretty face. I remain outwardly stoic while wrenching hands behind my back, as this was the part I was most worried about.

‘The orb…’ She trails of uncertainly and my wolf nods.

‘Yes, the Orb was mine. It was given to me by Pride as a farewell gift when she has pledged herself to another some three thousand years ago.’ The marked indifference of his tone, as if there was nothing unusual about having an acquaintance of a three thousand years, makes them gape. My lips twitch even as I feel gratitude he did not say anything overly revealing. It would not do to have them too informed, after all.

Seeing their reluctance to press my wolf sighs and elaborates. ‘I was the one to give the Orb to Corypheus. I’ve intended to kill two birds with one stone, and yet I have ended up being burned by the scheme.’

‘What exactly did you intend to achieve by this brain-haired idea?’ Vivienne interjects sharply. Fen looks at her without warmth while I grit my teeth, annoyed. Who is she to judge him, us?

‘As my previous endeavours greatly exhausted me, I went into regenerative slumber. However, I had no intention of leaving such powerful tool unattended, and cast upon it layers of protection. Unfortunately upon my rather premature awakening I found myself too weak to breach them, and as such contrived to make use of the freshly escaped darkspawn magister as a fuel to the spell.’ He sighs again. ‘The Orb would not have answered to his call, under any circumstances. It was created to respond to my magic only.’

‘Why did it answer to me, then?’ Ellana asks tentatively, almost fearful of the reply.

‘When I was creating the spells within the Orb, I have left a safety path through them. A route which would allow the access to it the one person I could entrust with the fate of Thedas. The one person I have valued more than anything.’ Fen carefully does not look my way as I blink twice, unable to keep the astonishment I feel wholly contained.

This he hasn’t told me before. I blush furiously under his loving gaze, and look away. I catch Dorian smirking under his nose and glare at him threateningly to keep his free tongue to himself.

‘So the plan was for Coryphaeus to what, burn out under the spells he could not control and allow you to access the powers locked within the Orb. However, Ellana’s untimely interference disrupted it as she unwittingly resembled _Mamae_ enough to trigger the secondary conditions of acquisition of the Orb.’ Valeria summarizes the situation clinically, crossing her arms.

‘Yes. Although she was not enough like Pride and would have died had I not interfered.’ Fen shrugs. ‘She still is not enough like Pride. The burden of the Mark could have been born by _Vehnan_ and her only. I had designed it in such way.’

They appear lost in thought, even Vivienne. I can see a wary nearly-respect blooming under her cold exterior and barely stop myself from gloating. Take that, witch. You have been calling him undereducated pariah, derided his abilities. How does it feel to realize he has had thousands upon thousands years of experience over you - that he was in fact the author of the very basics of magical education you hold so dear to your heart?

Of course I do not expect this knowledge to much change her behaviour or, Creators forbid, incite a bout of self-reflection. She will easily conclude that Fen might be a god, but he is certainly no Maker, but a barbarian god who dabbled in magic. And then go on believing herself to be center of the world, as she always has done.

Fen continues on expanding upon the circumstances within the Temple. ‘At first I considered simply leaving, since by then everything that could had already gone wrong. I had overestimated the magister - I supposed he would not allow interference during the ritual.’ He shakes his head in self-depreciation. ‘But then the scar in the skies remained instead of closing the way Veil ought to have closed and the least I could do was save the one person who could close the tears in the Veil that Breach was creating.’

‘But you were - are - a god. Could you not have closed them yourself?’ Valeria asks boldly, and with a hint of derision. I reach to Fen, squeezing his arm in warning - we do not want them to know to much of our plans. He does not react outwardly but his aura relaxes ever so slightly, caressing me in response and I know he understood the message.

‘Certainly. But that would have taken time we did not have. The Orb was indispensable tool in creating the Veil and I knew without a doubt that a person holding even a partially completed mark would have power to affect it.’

‘Why are you telling us all this?’ Ellana asks with a frown and I nearly applaud her. Finally, a sensible question - the girl is learning. A bit slowly, but better some progress than none.

Fen pulls of a wonderfully wounded appearance at her apparent distrust. ‘I had promised that I would explain you everything once I was able, did I not?’

Ellana nods slowly, but her expression remains unconvinced.

‘I suppose I felt guilty about pulling you into all this simply because my spells mistook you for someone else.’ He does magnificent job of omitting the fact that had they not she would have been dead. ‘Pride did not agree, but I’ve decided you deserved explanation.’

I shake my head in silent exasperation, sending him silently venomous look for the sake of our audience. Ellana’s face finally clears, and I have to applaud Fen’s masterful tactics. By bringing me into all this and our supposed disagreement on the issue he has appealed to Ellana’s profound dislike of me - and managed to make it look like he has trusted her in spite of my objections.

‘And the Veil? You mentioned the Orb was used in creating it?’ Dorian interjects and I finally decide to speak up.

‘The Veil was created during a world-shattering war as a means to disarm the opposition and stop the Evanuris in-fighting.’ I smile sadly, as images of burning Arlathan emerge in front of my eyes. ‘Their wrath was terrible and the wield over magic incomparable. No one could stand up against them and Thedas trembled and fell apart around them. Fen’Harel had no other choice but to seal them - and the magic alongside them. The Veil is a prison, the one prison that could hold back beings of their power.’

‘And what was your role in all this, Mamae?’ Valeria asks and I have to weigh just how much I wish to reveal. Finally deciding that spicing the tale with a heavy dose of truth will distract them from the glaring omissions - it is a rather fantastical tale when I think about it - I reply.

‘I was the cause of it.’

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize for the long delay. Life has not been kind to me recently - I took part in a car accident with serious consequnces which left me unable to write for a long time. And then my mum ended in hospital just as I left it, leaving me in no mood to write just as I was about to pick it up again.  
> However, I hope to be able to get out a chapter once every two weeks from now on. Please bear with me, this story has by no means been abandoned, nor do I intend to abandon it before completion.  
> Well, we have a partial reveal in this chapter - I will write more on the Inquisition's reactions in the following one, as well as a bit more politics as Pride's plans fall into place.


	9. Ending...

**Ending...**

The deathly silence hangs between us, as they consider my words. Finally, Ellana shakes herself out of astonishment.

‘Surely, you aren’t serious.’

‘Am I not?’ I raise my eyebrow. ‘In the end, it all came down to pride and her other face, arrogance. June, unable to admit that he might have been wrong. Sylaise, incapable of looking past her hurt, wielding her loss rather than admitting her pain. Mythal who thought she could stop them and perished in the process. Andruil who could not stand with her despised sister, and so chose to support June. Falon’Din incapable of siding with Andruil and drawing it all to a quick close and joining Sylaise. Dirthamen, keeping himself above and apart from the conflict, seemingly above it all and yet incapable of mediating between the lot of them. The most useless of them all, Elgar’Nan who raged indiscriminately and without any purpose whatsoever… And myself, stuck in this maelstrom and too weak to change anything at all.’

I can appreciate the disbelief warring with awe on Ellana’s face as I say the names of her Gods with familiarity and comfort of knowing them for a long time. With blatant disrespect, too, but then there’s only one Evanuris I’ve remained respectful of as the ages waned. In spite of their power, they were as erroneous as any mortal could be. More, in fact, since their mistakes lasted for ages.

‘It doesn’t sound like you’ve played any significant role in it at all.’ Dorian comments from the side, twirling his mustache around his finger. I do not take offence, knowing he does not mean to contradict me but rather inquiries further.

‘Ah, but surely you must know the role played need not be large for it to have overreaching consequences. I was the cause between initial disagreement, which escalated into what used to be called the Twilight of Gods before the elves forgot their origins, language and history.’ There’s a clear challenge in my eyes, daring Ellana to contradict my words. She glances helplessly in Fen’s direction and back in mine, flushing in shame. I know she used to be proud about Dalish’ remembrance of the ancient traditions and history - hearing it contradicted, especially by Ancients like us, must hurt.

And it’s supposed to. I need to distract her attention and I know that with her thirst of knowledge she will focus resources in a desperate attempt to contradict my words. And the more she will find out, the more desperate she will get… Until even in her naivety she won’t be able to avoid the unpleasant reality. But by then it will be far too late, and a lot of Inquisition’s resources will be wasted which would not have been if she had taken me at face value.

I reassure myself once again that Ellana cannot do so, even under her Advisors’ pressure. It would be admitting that the whole concept of Dalish’ elves was based on falsehood, that her inheritance and customs are not what she believed them to be. She would have to deny her heritage.

Looking into her eyes shine with outraged denial, I relax slightly my rigidly straight spine as most of my inner tension dissipates. We must be nearly done as little more remains to be said - or at least little more I am willing to divulge. Fen has let me take the lead on this one thus far, as I’m the one who put us in this situation and I am the one who has a plan to follow. But one last trap remains, easy to sidestep but just as easy to get wrong. I pray Fen will figure it out.

‘So, where does it leave us? Where does it leave **you**?’ Valeria finally asks the most important question of all, and I reply softly before Fen can.

‘Thedas needs to be reshaped into what it once used to be.’ It is the only cue I can give him of what needs to be said. I fall silent, trusting Fen to pick up where I have left it off.

‘I did not have the strength to oppose the other Evanuris directly and creation of the Veil was the only solution I had at the time to stop the war. I had no choice, it was either that or Thedas would have been torn apart by them. It still bears scars of their clashes, and I could see it only escalating further.’ Fen’Harel sighs and I snuggle against him in reassurance. I also do not like recalling those days. ‘Unfortunately, while I might have saved Thedas, the Elvhen had paid the price. Their immortality.’

Ellana gasps while Valeria sighs softly, with Dorian remaining cautiously non-judgemental and Vivienne blatantly derisive. Blackwall stands apart from them as he has always been, wholly indifferent to the issue.

‘And what about demons, plaguing the other side?’ Dorian finally asks as the silence stretches uncomfortably once again.

‘Spirits used to walk Thedas freely. They will be made so once again.’ Fen replies calmly even as their figures tense, understanding the underlying sentiment. Yes, demons are also spirits… Technically.

‘You will sacrifice countless lives for this… this… pipe dream of former glory!’ Ellana raises her voice and Fen smiles bitterly.

‘Countless people will be sacrificed regardless of my decision. Both action and inaction on my part mean significant losses.’

‘I cannot allow you to do this. It’s wrong.’ She shakes her head and I want to shake her out of her righteous stupidity before I remind myself that this is exactly what I’ve been hoping to achieve.

But Creators be merciful, will Ellana ever learn to see world in other shades than black and white? And here I thought she was improving.

Though her Advisors will certainly approve of her decision. They’ve never liked or trusted Fen and preventing him from achieving his nefarious goals will certainly satisfy their needs for heroics and meddling.

‘Allow me?’ Fen openly laughs at her. ‘I welcome you to try and stop me. Might I remind you that without **me** , your Inquisition would not exist. The powers which made you so special were mine to begin with and you were but a thief, interloping in place of their rightful wielder. Skyhold? Did you really think there would be an unoccupied fortress everyone has forgotten about? It is mine too, and without my help you would not have found it at all. You would have passed right by it, like countless other wanderers, for it was obscured by magic far beyond your reckoning.’

He takes a step forward and Ellana involuntarily steps back, cowed, as he seemingly grows larger.

‘Without me you would me **nothing**.’ Fen’Harel repeats with relish. And then he turns around and passes through the Eluvian, his robes swirling behind him.

I made a move to follow after him when Valeria calls out to me. ‘One last thing, Mother.’

I turn around and look in askance, keeping an eye should other Inquisition members in the vicinity try something. But they seem as surprised as I am by her words, so I drop my vigilance slightly.

‘Since we are to be in opposition from now on, I wish to be no more misunderstandings between us. I know you’ve never really understood my leaving, and I do not want you to hold back on my account in the future anymore.’ My daughter takes a deep breath before looking me right in the eyes and breaking my heart.

‘At first, it just hurt - your inner duality; the fact that you would trust me with your life but not your past. That for all that you’ve raised me, there were more secrets than truths. You are a mess of contradictions, Mamae - incomparable walking selflessness coupled with astounding selfishness. You kept your head high while your shoulders were slumped under the weight of your sins. You both loved and hated vividly… This resentment festered, and I lashed out against you… But it became simply unbearable once I have realized that Nervlis did not share my view. No, seeing the same things I did, he has held only admiration for you. Admiration and loyalty which far exceeded his feelings for me.’

‘I had lied to myself, for many years seeing and ignoring these signs. Once I had heard him speak of it - plainly saying that in his eyes your life outvalued anyone - I could bear it no longer. I have begun doubting whether Nervlis cared for me at all - or whether I was just a convenient way to keep close to you. It was heartbreaking. And it was unworthy of me, to doubt him in such manner. Once I have realized that, I’ve also realized there’s no going back for me - for us. This doubt has spoiled everything between us.’

‘That’s when I left. Being second best did not agree with me, Mamae. If there was one thing you taught me - one thing I’ll always be grateful for - it was that I deserved more than that.’

‘I grew to despise you, Mamae. But I learned to hate you when I realized that you weren’t perfect - and yet at the same time perfectly yourself in a way I could never compare.’ At least not in Nervlis’ eyes, I finish for her. And that’s the one thing that mattered for her more than anything else.

It is strange, I note numbly, hearing Valeria finally speak of her feelings. It is strange that now, having received the answer I so desired for many years, an explanation of her behaviour, I find myself wishing I did not know.

Because all I can gather from it is that this chasm is insurmountable. I cannot blame Nervlis for his loyalty; worse, it would diminish him to be less than he is. His loyalty - to me, and earlier, to Archivist - is what has given him his purpose. Neither can I blame myself for being who I am; I have finally started to accept it with all my strengths and faults. And even more so, I cannot blame Valeria for feeling hurt by all this. It is really a tragic conundrum, unsolvable. Only distance and time, perhaps, could help her accept it...

But it is unlikely. Not when my actions will keep getting thrown into her face in the coming years. Not when Nervlis follows - and will keep following - in my wake, my ever-present second. No, I have to accept that most probably, this breach between us will remain as it is now - insurmountable.

Especially since her journey and mine will likely take us in the directly opposing directions.

I just hope I will not have to kill her by my own hand, one day, when she stands in opposition to my goals.

There’s only one thing that’s left to be said.

‘Fare thee well, Valeria. Let the Creators lighten your path. I pray I will not be forced to kill you one day, my child.’ May the gods be ever in you favor, for no longer will I be able to alleviate your burdens.

My eyes are slightly wet from the tears I will not allow myself to fall as I bow in the purposefully ancient fashion of farewell before crossing the barrier to the other world. I am thoroughly lost in my musings and I do not see Floriana delicately steering my steps in the right direction as we traverse the upper floors of Winter Palace undetected.

It begins to make sense now, Valeria’s behaviour and her choice of the Inquisition. I suppose the more I denounced it the more she felt it her only choice… And she would be also naturally drawn to Ellana who has also been compared with me and found lacking by the one she has cared for. And even though Ellana has clearly found some measure of comfort in Cullen’s arms I doubt she has completely forgotten about Fen. I cannot imagine it being so as Cullen is his lesser in all aspects, almost incomparably so. Outclassed.

So they have something to commiserate about and have found their common dislike of me quite binding, I would assume. It must have been stifling for Valeria to be surrounded by the Wings who were incapable of seeing my faults objectively. Not that she is objective by any stretch of imagination, but my Wings would not be receptive to any critique levied upon me… Which meant she spent years incapable of even venting her grief and irritation. No wonder she left - in fact, it is a wonder she had stayed for so long.

I bite my lip. I wish things were different… My musings are interrupted only once I feel the iron taste of blood in my lips and I realize I bit too hard. Wiping the red off my face I finally look up at Fen, his face scrunched in worry. It is hard to judge how long I was lost within myself, but I get a firm grip on reality. There are things that I wish to clarify, and my plan has the last couple of screws loose which need to be adjusted.

‘Why didn’t you tell them about the origin of Blight?’ I ask him curiously. It fits my needs better but I am interested in his reasoning.

‘Firstly because there’s no proof readily available for them to see.’ Fen smiles ironically. ‘How well do you think they would take to my derailing one of the tenets of their faith? Without my research I could not convince them sufficiently, and we’ve no time to procure it. The Wardens have denounced my work as blasphemous and destroyed it, even though they were perfectly willing to accept my assistance in ensuring the next Blight would be delayed.’

He seems quite disgusted by their hypocrisy and I place a calming hand on his shoulder. I can understand their fear of his findings - if the explanation of the Blight’s were Maker’s wrath, at least they could hope for it to end one day. Not to mention the glory and support they have been receiving as his champions.

However if the Veil would be an explanation then they would just have to accept their helplessness against it, not to mention their vastly diminished prestige.

‘They did not want to believe it.’ I voice out my conclusion. It is understandable, yet cowardly. Fen looks at me and shrugs helplessly before nodding in agreement. There’s nothing more to be said on the score.

‘And the other reason?’ I break the silence once more after a couple of minutes pass on introspection.

‘Why, obviously you wanted me to be the bait. Convincing them that my actions had in fact their best interest in mind would be counterproductive, wouldn’t you say so?’ His eyes twinkle mischievously.

I laugh out loud and draw him into passionate kiss. How could I even doubt him? Of course he has seen right through it. He was a master of manipulation before I’ve learned tell lies.

They will watch for nefarious activities from our side. They will be fighting against windmills and overlook the threat we pose close to home until it’s too late. The playing field has been set and I can trust my wolf to reinforce the illusion until the Inquisition can see nothing but the ominous boogeyman. And in the meantime, we will have time aplenty to prepare for the war.

Fen twirls me around the room, with a smile brightening his face. We’ve had a couple of close calls but somehow the damage has been mitigated. Now I only have to wait and rip the benefits of my actions.

Even before the final hearing of the Exalted Council begins I know how it will end. Yet I cannot deny myself the pleasure of seeing it myself and I mingle in with the crowd of noble onlookers while Fen oversees the final preparations for our departure.

Ellana’s speech was not well-received, perceived with scepticism and disdain. Her words about Ben’Hassrath conspiracy are not backed with much proof. And since Fen ensured no one could use the Eluvians in the Winter Palace anymore after they have left the Crossroads, there’s nothing more to be had. The letters are flimsy at best and I’ve left them purposefully vague, and Ellana’s further words about Fen’Harel and his supposed idea to burn down the world are outright laughed away.

It just seems awfully convenient for the Inquisition to arrive at the scene of their judgement and stumble upon **another** threat to the entire Thedas.

The floor is taken by the Ferelden representative, who begins his passionate speech.

Teagan is not a good diplomat, by any stretch of imagination. He is too emotional, takes it all too personally, and is too prone to taking offence at things which were not meant offensively. If I were to guess why he, of all people, was sent, it was because of his unquestionable loyalty to the Ferelden crown. Any other more seasoned and better suited candidate with the proper glib and shine to him could be corrupted - since those of true political inclination rarely follow a cause, but rather weigh and calculate benefits.

I could understand King Alistair’s fears and reasons for preferring an unquestionably loyal diplomat over effective one, but I tend to think he made a mistake. But his mistake was my gain, I muse thoughtfully, observing with bright eyes as Teagan’s straightforward accusations offend just about every Orleasian in the room. Even Gaspard begins looking disgruntled, and Celene’s stony expression has chilled a while ago. This is not how the Game is played in the Empire, and Teagan just about assured that they will do the exact opposite of his suggestions.

They would perceive anything less a sign of weakness. And the Empire does not bow down before its lessers. It would create a precedent, an incentive for others to try and browbeat their way like Ferelden had done. Even while crumbling, Orlais would try retaining its dignity.

I smirk in condescension as Briala stands up to add the final nail to their coffin. I will write it on their collective tombstone. Dignified, even when the ground was crumbling beneath them.

She does it with mastery, playing on Orlesian narcissism and overinflated egos. She indirectly points that the Inquisition has to be subdued as well as suggests in the same note that disbanding them officially wouldn’t necessarily mean subjugation. Briala then passionately argues for supervision of their activities rather than forcing them into hiding, indirectly indicating that she does not believe they would do so.

I actually do not think Inquisition could go underground and maintain even half of their effectiveness. They rely too much on their public reputation to execute that with any real efficiency. But that does not mean Briala’s arguments do not sound convincing.

And the deal is sealed just the way I wanted it. Celene stands up and announces the final decision with Inquisition’s independence taken away and placed under Orlesian purveu. Cassandra - Divine Victoria - cannot hide her grimace when she signs off under the agreement, but her throne is too shaky and she has too few supporters to assert her will. Teagan denies to sign, stating out loud that the result of the meeting does not meet with Ferelden’s approval and that they will find a way to express their disapproval. And then he stomps out angrily, slamming the door behind him.

I am surprised I do not glow with all the satisfied glee I am feeling. Orlais has just alienated itself from about every nation on Thedas, insuring that while they will have Inquisition’s reluctant cooperation, they lost support from just about everyone else. At least temporarily, but we do not need more than a couple of years of this tense situation.

And since the Inquisition is forced into this situation I am certain Leliana will do just about everything to ensure she keeps as much of power as she possibly can. It will be a constant tug of war, distracting Celene and Gaspard, and I know I can count on Briala to inflate the situation further.

From the dangerous conundrum we have begun with, this could hardly have gone better. I am satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Thank you for all the lovely comments, and especially big hug to PrideFan who took their time to write an amazingly inspirational comment. To answer your question, I remain undecided whether Fen can to turn people into stone but I am leaning towards the possibility he does not. Or, more accurately, will not - he could but has no need to when his natural ice is back in full strength - remember, he has his orb back and with it most of his powers at his call. Not unlocked fully but as long as he has it nearby he can access them. I assumed turning to stone was Mythal-kind of thing and he took this power from her at the end of Inquisition - this does not happen here, by the way, which will be made clear in the following chapters. So he IS powerful enough to do this, I think, but earth is not his natural element and it would take much more effort than it’s worth. Especially since he can turn them into ice statues and blast them to pieces just as well.  
> I am glad that you’ve appreciated the way I took Fen, and I thoroughly agree that the way he manipulates Pride is not ok. On the other hand one has to remember he is very old - I’ve imagined him around 10 thousand in wolf form and likely existing in some spiritual form almost since the creation of Thedas, so extremely old. And being manipulative is his core feature, ingrained in him as deeply as his thirst for knowledge. Meeting and falling for Pride changed him, but not so much to change his inner self. And honestly, I do not think Pride would wish him to change that much - it’s one of the things that made her fall for him.  
> They will both need to learn to compromise when it comes to one another and we are for interesting times in their relationship, to be sure. Especially considering all the secrets both of them STILL keep. The conditional trust thing is all well and good between friends and acquaintances, but not so much between lovers...  
> I hope I’ve managed to sufficiently explain Valeria. I think feeling inadequate is a terrible thing, and I think it is sad that Pride did not realize and did not alleviate her insecurities before it all happened. And Valeria has been in this position for many years, so I hope her resentment and yes, anger, are more understandable now. Her indebtedness to Pride - PrideFan mentioned it, and it is undoubtedly true that Pride does not owe her anything, worse, it is much in reverse - only made things worse, I think. I had this dialogue - nearly monologue - of her’s written as one of the first things in this sequel because it was very important for me to convey why she has changed and that she did have reasons for it.  
> We are watching the journey of Pride, but I think it is also a journey of other characters. I try to remember about them - change them and their behaviour accordingly, remember that Thedas is a place where everyone evolves. Some less - like Vivienne - some in for a rude awakening - Ellana, Iron Bull - some slowly, resisting the change, like Fen.  
> I hope you liked this chapter, clinching the Trespasser timeline and setting us slowly for the epilogue times. A bit shorter, but it was a good cut-off point.


	10. Celebrating...

**Celebrating**...

Elation accompanies me all the way to Val Royeaux, where we meet up with Cole and Iron Bull. Nervlis has remained to tie up a few loose ends, but will follow along shortly. I like the feeling of a job well-done, and Fen seems just as pleased with the outcome.

I suppose I ought to care more about what Valeria had told me, but I have come to terms with our parting a long time ago. Knowing the reason for it is merely the final push I needed to consider our history finished. Should we come to blows I will not hesitate bringing her down… In spite of the inevitable regret.

We take a break in the most prestigious establishment in the central square. The Innkeeper looks at us with suspicion - two elves in less than pristine travelling gear - but the coin I offer sweetens his attitude. I demand the most luxurious rooms and gladly bask in comforts after our wearing journey. I can feel the tension of these past few weeks seeping away as I linger in a warm bath, washing away both the grime and the stench of blood. We eat a heartening meal on the balcony, talking in low voices and glancing below every-so-often.

The royal capital of Orlais is bustling with activity and for once I do not mind the gaudy colours and ostentatious decorations. Clearly, the news travel fast, and although the negotiations have just ended the citizens of Val Royeaux are well-aware of their conclusions. Were Celene and Gaspard proud of their achievement? I observe the celebrating Orleasians with a slight smile, awareness that they are feting the beginning of their downfall brightening my mood.

However my own celebration is cut short by an unwelcome visitor trespassing upon our peace. An elderly female of sharp features - with unexpected spring to her step in spite of her advanced years - enters our rooms without announcement. But it is not her appearance that is astounding, but rather the sickeningly familiar aura that clings to her skin. Once upon a time, a much different person wore the same veil of power around her...  An angry snarl raises in my throat.

‘ **Mythal**.’

‘Ah. So you have managed to find our little fugitive, Fen’Harel.’ She speaks to my wolf with oh-so-typical for her condescension, easily managing to ignore my words. It raises my hackles and I snap back.

‘Your current frame appears to suit you **well** , my lady.’

This time I get her where it hurts and she sends me a glacial look, full of disdain.

I am, of course, lying. Not to mention her former flawless beauty, her current body is clearly ill-prepared to contain her force. There are clear black lines beneath her skin where the pulse of power sought to be free. Obviously her human host has long perished, the husk filled to the brim by Mythal’s existence. If I could see magic the way I used to, I am certain she would be like a glowing beacon…

I can’t help but wonder whether she could match Fen in spite of her clear diminishment. In the ages past Mythal was by far the stronger of the two, yet now it is not so certain…

Her face clears while I am considering her with a frown and she extends an olive branch.

‘Peace, Pride. I come with an offering.’

I swallow my surprise as Fen stands up from behind the table, sliding his arm around my waist.

‘Indeed.’ His voice does little to conceal his doubt.

Mythal glances at his hand, possessively curled around me. She grimaces with distaste but does not comment otherwise. Her face is expressionless once more when she looks up at us.

‘I’ve been informed that you’ve run across some… difficulties, recently.’

I cross my arms while Fen’s fingers tense over my skin. ‘I was not aware you have been following our moves.’ Fen’Harel offers blandly. His unease simmers underneath it, and I can sympathise - I am also not happy with this information.

‘Please, Fen’Harel. It would be careless of me not to.’ Mythal shrugs, and I am forced to agree with her. If there’s anyone she needs to be wary of, it would be Fen. I could get to her, perhaps, but only through deception and careful planning. It is an unpleasant admission but in a straight up duel I would have little chance of success. And no one else but the two of us has either the knowledge or the means necessary to defeat her.

‘I know who was responsible for the leak of information, and I can assure you it will not happen again.’ She sits on the sofa regally, immediately taking command of the space. I grind my teeth but allow Fen to push me on the armchair opposite of her. My wolf keeps calm and saunters around, pouring both of us wine. I rest my eyes on him rather than facing Mythal, taking heart at his vigilance - expressed in the suddenly lethal grace and precision of movement. He doesn’t trust her anymore than I do.

Mythal is the first to break the silence that spread after her previous statement, and astonishingly I can hear the faint tremor of uncertainty underneath.

‘I could provide you with means of retribution against the offender, should you wish it.’

 Fen stands at my shoulder and his steady presence reassures me further. I know she cannot hurt me which means she is here to make a deal. The question is - what sort of a deal?

‘Oh?’ Being in position of power, for a change, is invigorating. ‘And who was it, pray tell?’

Mythal shifts uneasily.

‘Twas Morrigan. She bears some grudge against both of you; I did not discern what exactly, but then you are no stranger to making enemies.’

I roll my eyes at her avoidance and lift my brow in further enquiry. My silent command annoys her but Mythal keeps her temper in check. If not for an angry flash of her eyes I wouldn’t know it had affected her.

‘She has gleaned that knowledge from the Well of Sorrows and appears to have used it ill.’ She does not look at me but I can hear her accusation nonetheless.

I smile brightly in response. Trying to shift the blame will not work, my lady. I was under no obligation to accept that burden. Considering the power you seem to have over poor Morrigan I am glad for my choice.

Fen gets bored of the one-upmanship between me and Mythal.

‘Why have you come?’

‘You are going to lift the Veil, are you not? I would offer my assistance in returning Thedas to its former glory.’ Mythal does not appear to see us anymore. Her eyes are glazed over, lost in memories.

‘Your offer is appreciated.’ Fen says dryly. ‘Now why don’t you tell me what do you **really** want, Mythal?’

She recoils slightly, and I assume she did not expect Fen to call her out in such disrespectful manner. Mythal glances in my direction uncomfortably - clearly she has expected more private setting while stating her demands. I smirk in response and her gaze hardens.

‘I would ask for assurance that you will not hunt down my family while they are weakened after their long disconnection from the world… Or seek revenge at any later date.’

‘I will not if they will not. What else?’ Fen replies steadily. I feel slight disappointment for I would gladly use the opportunity to bring a couple of them - like, say, Andruil - down a notch. But I will not infringe on Fen’s honour... in this instance.

‘And can you say the same of your pet?’ She looks at me with disdain once more and I marvel at how easily she could guess at some of my desires…

Then again if Mythal was following our actions she must be aware I am a vengeful sort.

‘You do realize that offending me will not endear me to fulfill your request?’ I ask in my most helpful tone of voice while examining my nails. I am aware that I ought not push her, and Fen emanates with silent reproof from behind my back - but he does not step away or indicate he doesn’t support me. I feel a surge of gratitude that he would do so even in the midst of my - arguably - childish behaviour.

Mythal visibly swallows sharp retort and grinds out.

‘Pride. Could you… please... not assault my family at any time in the future.’ She sounds as if she is choking, I note gleefully. Asking anything of me must be grating, especially considering our past relative positions.

I am not done having my fun and am about to bait her even further, but Fen squeezes my arm in clear warning. I look up at him with plea - Mythal is more than deserving of my scorn - but his expression is stern. I sigh regretfully and reply.

‘Very well. I shall not take revenge in any shape or form upon your family for any of my past grievances.’ This is not what she was asking for but even Mythal must be aware I would not offer anything more than this.

I am a bit sad about this promise until I recall that both Andruil and Elgar’Nan can be offensive with their mere personality, not to mention actions. Unless Mythal reigns them in with an iron fist I will have my opportunity to take action.

From the way her eyes narrow Mythal also must have recalled those particular traits of her beloved family members. Regardless she does not attempt to force another stipulation upon me and remains silent.

‘What else?’ Fen presses her sharply.

Her discomfort raises even further and she glances at me again. I raise my eyebrow and settle more comfortably in my armchair, wordlessly indicating she will not get rid of me. Mythal frowns in displeasure and utters slowly.

‘I will require your assistance, Fen’Harel, to restore my former form.’ She looks down on her hands, marred with streaks of black, with disgust. ‘I’ve attempted it once already but adapting this… human carcass to my needs, while at the time useful, complicated things.’

I have to keep myself from grinning. How humiliating for her, admitting such weakness in front of one who loathes her the way I do. Such failure. My eyes glitter with barely restrained glee as I look up at the wolf behind me. He plays with my hair, considering Mythal thoughtfully.

‘We will consider your offer.’ He says finally, dismissing her. Mythal glares at him, unused to being in position of a petitioner, but nods jerkingly and exits the room with not-quite a slam of door.

Once I am sure she has left and does not mean to return I stand up, placing some distance between me and my wolf.

‘You did not tell me you’ve kept in touch with her.’ I try and fail to keep accusation from my tone. Fen flinches slightly.

‘I did not. Not really.’ He crosses the space between us and hugs me from behind. His breath tickles my ear. ‘I helped her gain some semblance of form centuries ago, and asked her to keep away from you… But otherwise, we’ve had no direct contact. I wasn’t even aware she has gained human shape until very recently.’

Fen sounds very honest, and his words ring true. I recall him mentioning something along those lines in a letter I’ve received many years ago, and decide to trust him. Still, I can’t rid myself of doubt - he is certainly telling the truth, but is it the whole truth?

‘Do we want to ally ourselves with her?’ I ask uncomfortably. I am of two minds how to proceed.

‘Mythal would undoubtedly prove a very powerful ally.’ Fen points out unnecessarily. I strain my neck to glare up at him, and he smiles sheepishly in apology.

‘Could we ever trust her?’

‘Well… She seemed honest… Or as honest as she ever gets. Certainly her anger was genuine.’ Fen’Harel ruffles my hair affectionately. ‘I wish you were more courteous towards her.’

I snort in response. ‘Why should I, when she wasn’t?’ I also note with amusement he never mentioned anything about respecting or deferring her, and nuzzle into his hand with slight smile. Clearly Fen’Harel is well aware of my limits.

The wolf sighs with tried forbearance.

‘What she said about Morrigan… I can’t say any reasons in particular spring to my mind for her behavior, but I can certainly divine them. She was prone to take offence at the slightest excuse, I would go as far as say she was actively seeking pretexts to take one. By the by, do we want to deal with her?’ His hands drop to my lower back and he begins nibbling at my ear.

‘Not now.’ I say distractedly. ‘Should we trust Mythal, she is more than capable of keeping Morrigan in line. The question remains - can we?’

‘For now, at least, her interests coincide with ours. Mythal wants Fade restored, for without it regaining her powers remains beyond her reach. And of course, she wishes to restore herself and her family to their rightful place.’

We both grimace slightly, and then smile at one another with full understanding. Neither one is comfortable with that idea, for many reasons. There’s June to consider, but then again none of the Evanuris will be happy with my wolf after ages of imprisonment… And even with Mythal interceding the likelihood of conflict is high.

‘Well, let’s put off this decision for now.’ I say quietly. ‘What do you think…’

But Fen cuts me off with a searing kiss. ‘No. We have had enough politics recently, and have barely seen one another. I demand…’ He kisses me again, leaving me gasping for air. ‘...and I **need** you. Now.’

‘Either order or plead. Otherwise it makes no sense.’ I reply breathlessly as he picks me up and carries to the bed.

‘Sense is overrated.’ Fen mutters with a low rumble to his throat. ‘We’ve come here to celebrate our victory. I will not allow Mythal to spoil it.’

Under his expert touch my mind becomes hazy with lust and I can no longer remember what I’ve been meaning to say. With a moan I relax against him as Fen’Harel urgently divests me of the unnecessary clothes. His fingers are skirting over my skin lightly as feathers, tantalizing in their gentleness. I wrap my hands around his neck, bringing him closer.

‘Fen.’ I breathe out, overcome with need.

My word is enough to spurn him on and he buries himself within me, passionate yet so unbelievably tender. And then there’s only heat and sweetness and sensuality and my senses overload. I scream at the end, a wordless exclaim of wonder as my wolf growls, biting my neck and stills above me.

We remain entwined together for many hours, basking in closeness of both bodies and minds. Fen whispers words of devotion and faith, and I reply with my own reassurances. There was no one else, dearest. No one else had ever had control over my heart. Not Valotaar, not Shartan, certainly not June…

The following morning Cole and Iron Bull come by. The Qunari looks extremely disgruntled.

‘How did it go?’ I ask lazily from the couch while Fen stands near the fireplace and pours drinks for all of us.

‘Good.’ Iron Bull replies gruffly. ‘They all left convinced that the Inquisition was responsible for the mess.’

‘Well done.’ I reach out through our bond and caress the part of Cole that resides within me. Cole preens at the praise, smiling happily. Iron Bull on the other hand darkens even more.

‘Demonic magic.’ He spouts angrily. ‘Influencing minds of others in such way is foul and underhanded.’

I raise my eyebrow and lift my hand to accept wine from Fen. His fingers ghost over mine briefly before he steps away and takes a piece of pie from the table.

‘And yet.’ I take a sip of wine. ‘And yet your reeducation camps strive to achieve the same goal. Is it not foul then, breaking minds of others by force rather than subtle influence?’

Iron Bull shifts uneasily and his muscles tense.

‘Those who leave reeducation camps truly believe what they were taught. The methods used are not clean, but it is often through force that we are made to reexamine ourselves.’ I can almost believe he really thinks that, but his voice shakes just enough to belie this.

‘Really.’ I say neutrally. ‘Why do they use drugs, then? If, as you say, the people have been… convinced to rethink their ways, to adjust to the might of Qun - why would they need such substances? You saw it yourself, I believe, when you picked up Valotaar.’

He falls into sullen silence still grumbling under his nose, but I see some of my words have reached his thick skull. Meeting Valotaar his state clearly have shaken Iron Bull, and he has remained in a state of uncertainty ever since.

I abandon the issue for now, aware that he will need time to mull over it.

‘Cole, where can I meet this spirit of wisdom you had previously mentioned?’ I turn to my spirit. Fen startles, staring at me with confusion.

‘North. Further up north.’ Cole replies decisively.

I recall that he does not perceive distance - or borders between countries - as other mortals are wont to do and sigh. That makes any estimation of the length of journey nigh impossible to make…

‘Fen, it seems our roads diverge once again.’

‘And what exactly does this errand of yours involve?’ He remains reasonably calm, if a little cool.

‘It would have been good to know.’ I smile wryly. ‘Alas, aside from the fact I need to meet with this spirit there’s little to tell. I have questions and it **could** have answers.’

His fingers clench armrests on his chair and turn white from the force he applies to keep his anger contained.

‘So you are not even certain whether the journey will prove at all useful.’

I face his glare head on. True, there’s no certainty in my task, but then it is my only lead for now.

‘I’ve delayed this issue for long enough.’ I reply decisively. ‘We have managed to gain semblance of peace for now, and there’s nothing that requires my personal involvement. Nervlis can provide you with any information you might need, and in any case we need to focus on building our forces and enhancing Inquisition’s mistaken assumptions regarding our goals. Both will take time.’

‘I will likely need a way to contact Briala.’ Fen presents his counterargument, and from the way he sounds I can tell he is grasping at straws. He does not have any strong reasons to make me stay, and he knows it.

‘Nervlis.’ I say flatly, a bit irritated that he has even tried while aware I want to go. ‘This is the perfect moment, Fen - nothing urgent commands my time. Such opportunity could not appear for the next few years!’

‘I know.’ My wolf sighs deeply and bends down to pick up a handful of my hair. ‘Just… come back to me. Please.’ He kisses the silver strands in his hand and then lets them slowly slip away from his grasp.

‘I intend to.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear PrideFan, as always reading your long and in-depth comments is pure pleasure, and quite inspiring. Your analysis of my story makes it fun to see which things have had a clear foreshadowing and which had been subtle enough for people to miss. I will not say anything about Iron Bull’s rude awakening - let’s just say it will be huge.  
> To answer your question, I considered that at first Ellana opted for full independence - that’s why she has mentioned Fen’Harel - and ended up begrudgingly agreeing to remaining under Chantry’s purview - and by extension, Orleasian - once that proved impossible. I agree that she ought to have slipped into the underground rather than pursued this route, even though Pride has a point about their importance and reach being largely influenced by their... visibility, so to speak. Ellana had a glowing hand which closed off demon gates - that bought a lot of goodwill and support, even if merely among peasants. That allowed Leliana to easily recruit agents, even if not among the highest echelon of aristocracy. Loosing that would hurt...  
> There were no good choices for her, really, although I agree the final option ended up being by far the worst.  
> Answering Sehlib’s question will be a bit spoilery so for people who do not want spoilers, you have been warned.  
> Fen’Harel has actually taken Ellana’s power away, and it hasn’t been explained because she hasn’t realised yet and he did not feel like mentioning it. The glowing mark itself has remained for now, as removing it would require far more time and effort than the wolf wanted to spare. It will come up in the future chapters, of course.  
> It was especially important since the mark was capable of far more than just closing/opening rifts, only Ellana hadn’t really tried anything with it. Fen wasn’t about to allow her any more time to find out, so there were only 2 choices he had - kill her or take away her power. So, in short - her arm is fine, looks like it has active mark only it doesn’t, and Ellana isn’t dying anymore.


	11. Weakened...

**Weakened...**

As Cole said, we journey north from Val Royeaux, leaving behind an upset wolf, accompanied by no less disgruntled Qunari. Our road takes us through Nevarra where I make a slight detour to admire the mausoleums once again. 

They never fail to impress, carved in the most pristine of marbles and towering above the City of Nevarra. Cole dislikes them, though - says there’s a lingering touch of decay he doesn’t care for. So I leave him behind and wander the halls on my own, as usual marvelling how reminiscent they are of Falon’Din’s sanctuary. Certainly the atmosphere is just the same - a feeling of peace and restfulness, a place where the outside affairs lose their meaning.

Reinvigorated by a couple of hours of calm introspection I travel onward and upward as we reach the Hundred Pillars. The air grows thin as we reach greater heights, and my breath grows short and rugged. It’s not only lack of air that hurts me, but also the Veil - which is stronger here than elsewhere. Too little Fade to maintain connection with my mana. Soon I am forced to rely on Cole to guide me as I am lost in a haze of pain.

I begin to wonder whether there’s any purpose to this at all and whether we shouldn’t head back… But then we finally stop, Cole tying my horse on the side.

He helps me dismount and I take a few wobbly steps, blinking to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness. The peak is devoid of any greenery, even the smallest of shrubbery having forgone trying to survive on this altitude. Naked rocks have been sharpened by unforgiving wind, blazing around us even now. It drowns out any other noise, should there be one, even our footsteps.

Unexpectedly, there’s no snow. For some reason, I imagined there would be. Yet it is a barren wasteland, nothing to break the monotonous grey of the exposed mountain.  

There’s a spirit in front of us, looking down into the chasm below… But something seems wrong about him, although I can’t put my finger on it.

‘Welcome... Pride... at the Peak of the World.’ He rasps, turning around.

Looking at him from up close the  **wrongness** is even more enhanced. He shifts and flickers, almost as if he were a shadow, not an actual living being. His white humanoid form is frayed and fraught, as if someone took and ripped out holes in his very existence. I take a step back, sickened by the sight.

‘I’ve been... expecting you… for quite some time.’ He wavers under the strain of his speech, like a leaf shaken by the gust of wind.

‘Have…’ A sudden cough interrupts my reply. ‘Have you?’ I wipe the moisture from my lips and startle, noting streaks of red on my hand. Shuddering I decide that we cannot remain here for long. Else I will pay a heavy price for my curiosity.

‘You… have questions… and I… have answers.’ The wraith drawls our. ‘But… I… shan’t tell anything… unless you... help me.’ My eyes widen in astonishment and he laughs. It is a disconcerting sound, broken and nearly hysterical. Mad, almost.

‘A favour... for… a favour. Fair deal... is it not?’ And it chuckles again, even though laughing plainly causes it pain. 

‘How can I help you?’ I ask. In my current poor state I doubt I could be of any use… to anyone. He should see it himself.

And in any case, how could one blind to magic assist a magical being? If he wanted Fen, I could understand that, but me?

‘I… am stuck… between realities. One half… on this side… the second half… on the other side… of the Veil. You can… be a conduit…’ Seeing my blank expression he sighs his exasperation. ‘You know… the way.’

‘The ritual.’ I gasp out my sudden understanding. 

The withering spirit before me nods. 

‘Yesss…  **Make... me... whole… Pride.** ’ 

His suffering screams to me, draws me in. I feel inexplicable kinship with this pitiful creature, split in half between realities. Realities that Fen had separated, forged into individual existence - and I am at least partially responsible for that. However as I am about to agree, another thought strikes me.

‘How can I be certain that you have the knowledge I crave?’ I ask suspiciously, berating myself for almost agreeing without any reassurance. It is most unlike me…

‘Once upon a time… you would not have... asked such question.’ The spirit shakes his head in disapproval. I shrug, and fight off another wave of cough. I  **have** changed.

‘Very… well.’ The spirit of wisdom hovers over the edge as if it were about to fall. ‘The bond… you share… with your spirits… is unique.’

I bite back the urge to interrupt and hurry him along. Even though he is saying things I am already aware of, for all I know if he is easily thrown off track it would only prolong the process… And while I can’t imagine what’s it like, being split between words, I can guess it might be highly distracting. Judging from his state, at least the pain is nigh unbearable.

‘The reason… is that you… are not… of Thedas. It creates… connection… with Aether.’ He chokes slightly, and I raise my hand to stop him. In the background I can feel Cole’s silent astonishment, echoing through our bond, and Imshael’s muted response of wonder… Off-handedly I realise that my demon must be far closer than I have assumed, for me to feel anything at all. 

‘Enough. I believe you.’ He knows that I’m not from Thedas... There are few who have ever been aware. That is enough to convince me that he also knows more about this… Aether. And it is plausible that my origin is the cause of my bonds’... unusual behaviour.

‘Initiate… the bond.’ The spirit commands. It is a bit of-putting, but I nod and motion for Cole to step away.

The circumstances are hardly ideal but I force myself to keep my lines sharp and wits even sharper. Finally the glyph emerges, kept pristine in spite of my bouts of bloody cough. They are getting more frequent with each passing hour, making the issue more and more urgent by the minute. I drink a lyrium potion to replenish my reserves, grimacing at the sickeningly intoxicating taste. I wish it weren’t necessary - and I can imagine Fen’s lecture, had he known about it.

Lyrium gives me the necessary kick of power to follow through the ritual, and soon I have a frayed tie to the spirit within my soul. Yet as soon as is is finished I begin regretting my hasty decision.

It’s as if the Void itself connected with me, and for a moment I lose my bearings, gasping as the terrible cold seeps into me. A shudder runs through my body and I hug my knees curling defensively on the ground, desperately grasping on strands of my soul to combat this icy darkness, threatening to swallow me. It evokes all the loneliness and hate I have felt, and suddenly it seems insurmountable.

I haven’t realized how bad it really was… I’ve really faced it all alone. In the end, there was no one who could - would - help me. Is it really worth it, this continued resistance to inevitable? Regardless, I will end up having to fight alone once more. Is it worth it…?

Instinctively I go further within. I reach to fire of anger blazing inside of me, gather it around and  **become.** I am heat, I am wrath, I am power… I am strength and determination and I raise the walls inside my soul, cordoning the piece of Void away from the rest of me. Brick by brick, drawing on my hefty experience on the matters of soul and infusing them with memories of warmth and friendship and love to counter the emptiness and madness on the other side. It snaps at me, icebite cooling my heart as the Void tries to fight back, fight for the small purchase it found in my soul. 

I refuse to back down. I have faced countless plagues and deaths and I will not allow this to affect me! I stare into the darkness fearlessly, remembering that even in this, I am not alone. And that there’s I will not be defeated by weakness… I will not!

In response this flare of relentlessness, the cold recedes. The haze clouding my mind clears and I hastily use the momentary break to patch the holes in my walls. As they grow stronger and taller, the influence of the Void weakens. Finally but a cool whisper remains in my soul, signifying the connection. I look with pride at the blazing defences, protecting my mindscape. I am proud of my quick thinking, and of the final result. Clearly I’ve become much more knowledgeable about these issues without fully realising it…

Both Cole and much fainter Imshael leave me in no doubt as to their disapproval of my actions. I brush away their wordless chastisement with impatience, as violent cough forces me to retreat from the soothing refuge of my mindscape. Opening my eyes I blink in surprise, seeing Cole supporting my swaying body. 

Clearly mental battles have their disadvantages. Like, say, complete lack of awareness of one’s body until it nearly breaks down…

‘Are you alright, Pride?’ The spirit’s concern seeps into me, but it is a bit muted. ‘You don’t feel alright.’

‘I’m not, Cole.’ I reply more honestly than I’m wont to do. And then, struck by another supposition, ask. ‘How  **do** I feel?’

He lapses into silence. 

‘Distant.’ My spirit replies finally, with a note of mourning. ‘Far away. I can’t touch you anymore.’

It is… concerning. Some changes were to be expected, that with me creating a wall in cordoning a part of my true self, but…

‘Well then, we’d better make sure it doesn’t last long.’ I reply with a false cheer… Which is made even less believable by another cough, wrecking my body.

It is downright mortifying that I am forced to further rely on his help to mount and depart from this ghastly place. Somehow it is worse than having Imshael along would have been. I am certain the demon would gloat, deriding my weakness and taking pleasure from my embarrassment. On the other hand Cole does not mind helping me along, glad to be helpful to me and so honestly  **worried** about me… It makes my hackles raise, and the fact that he has reason for his distress is even more shameful. I can’t bear his thoughtful care of me, and remain sullenly silent throughout our - fortunately much swifter - trek downwards.

We stay in Nevarra as I recuperate, healing my body from the bloody cough. The physician I see tells me that my lungs have suffered rather severely, prescribes many awful tonics and decrees at least a month of rest. I manage two full weeks of dutifully following his recommendations, guilt subduing my contrary nature. I would much rather wander the mausoleums, and it puts me in foul mood. 

At the end of the fourteenth day a message from Briala distracts me from my irritation. I spend the next day sending urgent messages, and a couple more impatiently waiting for replies until a clear picture emerges.

Warden Blackwall is, in fact, no warden at all.

I’ve had my suspicions, but there was no time to investigate them… And then other issues distracted me from the ultimately unimportant matter. Now Briala has provided me with his true identity, as the man is awaiting his trial in royal prison in Val Royeaux.

Thom Rainier did not have an easy childhood, born to a light-skirt mother who could barely put up enough food on the table to feed them both. She has perished when he was barely ten, after a lung fever which also took his younger sister. And so, young and untried he was cast on the streets of Markham.

He skirted the following years with random jobs, barely making ends meet. However, soon Thom’s fighting talent begun to shine amids tavern brawls and random street skirmishes, when having a quick blade and graceful feet saved his life many times over. That was when around thirteen years of age he was picked up by a leader of local band of mercenaries, a man who came by the name of Axe in the underworld. He spent a couple of years with them, honing his skills until they could teach him no more. Thom Rainier was left with a choice then - either to challenge Axe for the leadership, or leave.

He chose to leave.

The next few years of his lifetime are shrouded with mystery until he emerged again in the Grand Tourney, which he had won. Though it is rumoured he had help from a fellow challenger, the fame he has gained allowed him to choose more rewarding mercenary jobs than previously. Still it wasn’t an easy life, and Thom posed a threat to any mercenary leader, having far more fighting skill and natural leadership qualities. So he had never stayed for long.

Finally something - or someone - has suggested him an army, and that is where he had seemed to find his calling. Thom Rainier thrived under strict military discipline, shooting through the ranks with unusual speed for one so wholly unconnected with aristocratic patrons. He had plenty of opportunity to showcase his instinctive tactics, unlearned and yet unexpectedly brilliant. He had aligned himself with duke Gaspard - hard to judge whether he was aware of his commitment, whether he fully understood the ever-present political undercurrent of the army. Still, Gaspard has seen him as one of his tools, one to be used… and discarded when it no longer needed.

Thom Rainier’s brilliant carrier had an abrupt ending. He was ordered by his superiors to carry out an ambush on a noble supporting Celene, one Vincent Callier. Rainier had fulfilled this task with the same efficiency as he did previous ones, leaving no witnesses alive - and that included his wife and children.

But this time he has executed it all a little too well. The public outrage after the assassination was enormous, and people were starting to look in the right direction. Gaspard became desperate - he was not yet ready for his bid for the crown. He needed a scapegoat… And that meant that in spite of the perfect operation, a witness was found. One who pointed finger right at Thom Rainier and produced proof of his supposed debt to the Lord - and an obvious reason for the ambush.

His men were caught soon, and Thom Rainier barely fled. I had no information on how he came to meet with Warden Blackwall, and how he took his name as his own…

But I had little doubt why Briala had sent me the information about his pending trial. Apparently, Ellana disavowed her former companion, disclaiming any connection with either him or his past misdeeds. Whatever bout of conscience induced Blackwall to step forward and admit his guilt, it was not appreciated by anyone.

The Inquisition was already in dire straits without being connected to a known felon. And while Leliana might have risked the loss of reputation for the man of Rainier’s skillset, Josephine would have been strongly against it. Adding to it Ellana’s attitude, the man was thrown to the wolves… Again. Though this time, at least, he must have expected it. 

I tap my chin with the paper, pondering on the issue. Yes, having Rainier would cover one of our weaknesses… But it would all depend on his motivation. I will not allow one I cannot trust within our ranks.

With this decision made, I urge Cole to pack our meager belongings, and we are off to Val Royeaux.

The rainy season had begun, and the roads are in terrible state. One would not be far off the mark to call them streams, as our horses have their hooves completely submerged in water with each step. It makes for a slow progress, and my poor to begin with health does not improve under the circumstances. My clothes are soaked many times over, and short rests in taverns do not allow for drying. 

When we reach Orlesian Capital, I am felled by terrible fever. Cole takes care of our living arrangements, I am nearly unresponsive, barely capable of walking. The next few days are lost to me in heat and pain, as I fight with the disease. I am unaware of the people coming and going, though there must be someone taking care to change sheets, feed me and ensure there’s always fresh water within my reach.

When I become conscious, I note Nervlis sleeping in a chair by my side, and a quick look around finds Imshael pacing on the balcony while berating shame-faced Cole. I attempt to speak, but a raspy cough only comes out of my throat. This wakes up my second, who immediately pours me water and assists in drinking it.

‘Careful, Fean’Na. You are yet weak, do not exert yourself.’

Dismayed I can perceive the truth of his words, for my limbs feel unpleasantly heavy, and even lifting my head is an effort.

‘How… long…’ I manage to rasp out, before choking on the soreness of my throat.

‘Too long.’ Imshael saunters into the room and crosses his arms, his demonic features scrunched in censure. ‘A week. You’ve been like a newborn kitten, open for any stray to kick you to death. I expected you to remain with the wolf until my return.’

Had I been in any better shape I would have bristled at his disrespectful tone and presumptions. Since I am not, I conserve my energy and focus on more important matters than his wrath.

‘Rainier…?’ I ask Nervlis. He fidgets, glancing nervously at Imshael who begins looking murderous at my easy dismissal. Still, my second is one for a reason; among others his commendable obedience, so he replies as if there weren’t a  fuming, powerful demon right next to him.

‘The execution is in three days.’

‘Arrange… things.’ I order, my eyes closing the moment he nods his acquiescence. Imshael is growling something under his nose but I am quickly losing my touch with reality, and no longer understand him.

The following days are a bit of a blur to me. Nervlis barely appears, busy doing my bidding. Cole and Imshael stalk my every move, both vigilant to the smallest signs of my weakness. Of which there are plenty, and Imshael throws a fit when I am about to go out on the third morning.

I ignore him and with Nervlis at my back and Cole blending into shadows on the side make my way from the unsavoury part of the city to the prison. The rain has let off, but Val Royeaux does not present itself well with puddles of water and their colourful flags shrivelled and dripping cold droplets on the passersby. A cold, moist wind blows, and I huddle my coat closer to my body, grateful that it is finally dry.

We are clearly expected, and with a single glance the Warden waves us through the guards. A single warrior leads us to the correct cell, and then departs, leaving us alone. Nervlis nods to me and also departs, poised in the corridor to watch our backs.

I must admit, I am impressed with his efficiency. I do not know how he had managed this, but I doubt it was easy. Private meetings with death-row convicts are not a thing, usually…

I remind myself that I’ve limited time and forgo the marvel of Nervlis’ feat. I enter the cell, immediately spotting the black-haired man, who lifts his head. The cell is but a few meters, and his large form rather dwarfs the small bench he was allowed. 

‘I admit, I was expecting a visit… But not yours.’ Rainier’s shoulders are slumped, and I can see it is only bravado that sustains his poise. I can sympathise, having been in that position many times - though usually, not quite this helpless.

‘Ellana didn’t drop by?’ I am surprised. ‘I would have expected her to at least want to hear the truth from the horse's’ mouth, so to speak.’

He laughs bitterly.

‘No, I am not worth the bother.’ He turns his gaze from my inquisitive eyes. ‘Too many eyes watching… The Inquisition’s precarious position makes them want a clean break. Ellana sent me a terse letter expressing her disappointment and betrayal, clearly worded for someone else rather than myself.’

‘I wonder… Why did you come forward?’ I ask curiously, careful not to show how important that answer is to me. ‘There weren’t any high rank Wardens left to deny your story, and Thom Rainier was believed dead. You could have rebuilt your life with no one the wiser.’

I lean on the wall inconspicuously, trying to hide my exhaustion. It is very trying, that such small effort would tire me so.

‘Initially, I’ve heard about execution of the last of my unit and I’ve come to stop it. But I was too late…’ He shakes his head, closing his eyes. ‘As always, it seems. And then, the guilt was just too much to bear. I wanted to atone, even just a little.’

‘Well then.’ I nod, disappointed. ‘Thank you for satisfying my curiosity, but that was all I wished to know.’

I push myself away from the wall and wait a few moments before the ground stops spinning. With a soft sigh I drag myself outside, when suddenly he calls out to me.

‘Why have you  **really** come?’ His eyes bear into me, seeing far too clearly. ‘You are not well, and yet you took great pains to arrange a meeting with someone whose motivations will matter nothing in a few hours. It wasn’t just curiosity, was it? You do not seem like someone who would waste their health and resources needlessly, Quicksilver.’

Perhaps I have misjudged the situation, I note to myself with dismay. Clearly my illness is throwing me off… I am lucky Rainier is bright enough, or I would have missed this chance.

Then again, if he weren’t then probably I would not have been interested in him in the first place.

‘I have come with an offer.’ I reply, still with my back towards him. ‘But it is not for someone reconciled to their fate.’

‘An offer?’ He pries further, and finally I turn around and look down on him.

‘Retribution for one who would wish it.’ I smile lazily, even as beads of sweat travel down my spine. I can feel my temperature rising again, a sign of my sickness returning. ‘I honour your wish of atonement for the deaths of your comrades… But don’t you think that it would be better to avenge them? After all, you have done nothing wrong.’

‘Nothing wrong?!’ He raises his voice, and his eyes bulge out of his sockets in astonishment.

I tsk in disapproval.

‘You were given orders and you followed them down to the letter.’ I say patiently.

‘But I knew what the orders entailed and I have kept it from them.’ Rainier counters aggressively.

‘As any good captain would.’ I reply evenly. ‘Tell me, what would have happened if you refused the order?’

He falls silent, and I nod silently. Yes, refusal to comply with superior's orders would have resulted in death. His, and likely his unit’s, as well. No army can afford insubordination in their ranks.

‘The ones who were in the wrong were your commanders.’ I whisper convincingly. ‘They were the ones who abandoned you all to the wolves once things got out of hand, instead of finding a way to protect you.’

‘And you are offering… Revenge. Against whom? Robert Chapuis?’

I laugh and soon regret it, wheezing breathlessly.

‘Small fry.’ I brush him off. ‘And one who was only following his orders, like you were. No, if you want true revenge, you have to go for the head. For those truly responsible.’

‘Gaspard and Celene.’ Rainier finishes it for me, his eyes glinting with a new kind of fervour.

Nearly there, I tell myself. He just needs a small push.

‘And what do  **you** have against them? Surely it is not out of the goodness of your heart that you’ve come to me.’

I measure my response. I am not trusting him with even a crumb of our true purpose until his devotion is tested, but I can offer him one facet of truth.

‘No elf on Thedas has forgotten Halamshiral.’

‘Ah.’ His face clears in understanding. ‘And if I were to agree… what exactly would I be agreeing to?’

‘I expect nothing less but complete loyalty.’ I reply stonily. ‘And you will get your shot at toppling Orleasian throne.’

He wavers, and casts a look in Nervlis direction. I know he must be recalling my desperate defence of my second from the dragon, and bite back a smirk. That was one stupidity that has unexpectedly bore fruit - for Rainier has tangible proof that I am most unlike his former command. I do not abandon my people to their deaths if there’s anything I can do to prevent it.

I can see the moment he makes a decision, and know what it is even before he speaks. The spark of determination in his eyes glows brightly.

And suddenly, again we are short on time. I exit the prison and remain on the plaza where Rainier’s execution is to take place. Nervlis with Florianne on the other hand activate all the contingencies that were set in place were we to come to an agreement. Come midday, a convict is led to the center of the podium, flanked by bulky guards with scary frowns on their faces.

I feel the air flow change, as three hooded figures stand by my side.

‘Watch.’ I order them quietly. ‘Today is the day when Thom Rainier dies, and Rain is born anew. Watch and remember, for you owe me everything - and just as easily as I have given you this life, I will take it away if you make one step out of line. Forget your past, forget all of your allegiances and focus only on serving me to the best of your ability… And I promise, your day of triumph will come. I reward generously those that serve me well.’

Thomas Rainier… no, Rain now, nods solemnly.

‘I will remember.’


	12. Blind...

**Blind...**

There’s more than a grain of truth in the saying that clothes make the man, I muse, looking at Rain in astonishment. Nothing remains of the formerly gruff exterior, as he presents himself in the shady inn after Nervlis’ makeover.

His impressive black beard was cleanly shaved and his eyebrows and hair dyed into a nearly white blond. Blond locks cut unevenly and partially lifted by red bandana, and he appears… youthful. Which is quite an achievement for a troubled, middle-aged man. In gaudy brown and red outfit, with confident saunter to his step and challenging smirk, he looks precisely nothing like his solemn past self. I am quite certain no one, even Leliana, would recognise him. At least not without second look, and both me and Nervlis are going to make sure no one thinks to do so.

Of course, one day the secret will be out, no avoiding this. But hopefully by then we will have established position of strength in any negotiations. Or a border security sufficient to turn away anyone bothered by the issue.

‘Very nice.’ I compliment quietly. ‘Now you just have to make sure you are consistent with your story and behaviour and we are safe to go.’

‘I like this change.’ His eyes twinkle mischievously and I reply with a smile. Some levity will do him loads of good - and clearly he is amused by what we’ve achieved. Then his face grows more serious as he asks. ‘Who was the man that took my place?’

‘No one innocent, if that’s your concern.’ Nervlis replies, sitting himself down to our table and throwing a packet of parchments in Rain’s direction. ‘This is your background. Learn it by heart and then burn the papers.’

Rain nods seriously, stuffing them into side pocket.

Watching them interact is a weight off my shoulders. They will not have a problem communicating after my departure...

I am about to inform them of it when I am beset by fatigue. Immediately, summoned by exhaustion seeping into our bond, Imshael appears by my side. Disregarding my weak protests he lifts me up. I dangle like a doll with cut strings from his arms as he walks up to the second floor of the inn and deposits me in my room.

Days pass and I observe little to no improvement in my condition. The fever comes and goes, and tiredness is ever-present. As I ponder on the issue I conclude that we can wait no longer, and summon my subordinates to discuss our next step.

‘Nervlis, take Rain and make sure he is comfortable with Fen. The wolf will surely have use for a man of his experience.’ My right hand nods complacently and I tick the issue off of my mental list. ‘Then promise Briala my gratitude. Cooperate with Iron Bull and Arissar if necessary, so the Ben’Hassarath no longer have a free run of Thedas. Maybe drop a word in Ferelden - I would rather not involve Eamonn here, it would betray our allegiance too clearly, and Teagan is clearly unstable - but you can think of something. Apply pressure on Orleasian and Antivan courts, you know the drill. I want Ben’Hassrath influence in the vicinity gone, or at least vastly diminished before the war begins.’

‘It will likely result in their efforts focusing on Tevinter.’ Nervlis points out, tapping his nose thoughtfully.

‘I don’t care.’ I shrug indifferently. ‘They can manage it, and if not, there will be time to pick up the pieces once we have secured our own borders. For now we cannot allow our feelings to overrule prudency, and prudency says we cannot fight on multiple fronts. It’s just not feasible.’

I levy a heavy gaze on him. ‘Nothing matters more than these preparations. We need to be ready, neutralise as many players as possible.’

I look on the map, considering the political situation. Orlais has managed to piss off just about everybody with their decision to keep Inquisition under their thumb. Ferelden was unlikely to lend aid to Orlesian internal war even without that - their own fight for independence still fresh in minds of some, like Eamon Guerrin - so that’s one thing we do not need to consider. In fact… I mark a large question mark over Ferelden. Perhaps we could convince them to support us. And why not? It is in their best interest to weaken Orlais, regardless of the means.

Inquisition will be largely tangled by their struggle for control over the next few years, although once the ball starts rolling they will, most likely, step up their game. I would rather see them disbanded than merely crippled, but that avenue was closed off by the mess… Unfortunate, but I will take what I can get. We will have to aim our first strike against them, drive them to the coast - or allow ourselves to be squashed between two armies with no room to maneuver. Unacceptable possibility, and one that will need to be averted.

So that’s the Eastern border settled.

Anderfels are and likely will remain irrelevant. Their impossible to conquer due to unfriendly terrain country remains incredibly poor for the very same reason. They will not waste their scarce resources for either side’s sake.

Now, Nevarra and Orlais have been on an uneasy ground directly contending over borders for the last few centuries. Adding to this Orlesian distrust of anything magical and necromancy in particular, and we have a picture of unfriendly neighbors constantly trying to one up one another. We could sway a few Nevarran factions to our aid, but Nevarra remains Andrastian in religion and they will not directly aid us. Still, sometimes the under-the-table deals are more beneficial than official support.

So I add another question mark to the map, while sprawling a large X over Anderfels… and Tevinter.

Because Tevinter will bring snacks and watch from the side, taking joy at our weakening one another, only occasionally adding fuel to the fire. They despise Orlais... But they will hate us just as much once they realize our goal is to restore most of Shartan’s empire.

Antiva will undoubtedly see the war as an opportunity to make favourable trading deals… Which means they will choose Orlais who are in position to make them. We have to gain access to the sea, but until we do we are worthless in their eyes. Fortunately, Antiva is not much famed for their military… Although I remind Nervlis to ensure everyone is aware of the danger their assassins will undoubtedly pose.

Nibbling my lip I gladly recall that the Crows have been severely crippled by my actions a few years back. They have scrambled to recreate their chain of command once I had slain most of their upper echelon… Which makes their current leaders inexperienced and the least effective in their whole history.

Unfortunately, it has a downside - the Crows will take every opportunity for revenge. I will have to watch my back most cautiously, that with an exorbitant bounties Orlais will place on my head.

The Free Marches are a coin toss. Some of the cities will refrain from participation, some will throw in with us, some will scream injustice against the Holy Andrastian Empire and vehemently support Orlais. Fortunately their influence is and likely will remain marginal. It would be a waste of resources trying to sway them.

I bite down my lip looking down on the map filled with X’s and question marks. From the frown on Nervlis’ face I know he agrees with my bleak assessment of the situation. With a sigh I roll it and adding a few comments give to my second. Had I any less faith in Fen’s powers, it would appear completely hopeless… Although we are in a bad situation, politically speaking.

Fortunately the biggest threat, Ferelden, will not join Orlais. Or we would have been squashed between them.

Reminding myself to think about this single positive thing, I announce my decision to continue with my quest to discover the origins of my new powers. And the outcry begins…

I don’t know which one of them protests louder - Cole, Imshael or Nervlis. There is a moment of cacophony during which my headache spikes so badly I almost cannot hear them. I press my hand to my forehead, and force myself to breathe in and out deeply, alleviating some of the pain. Once I get my bearings back I lift my head to see three of them looking at me sheepishly.

‘I will not get better.’ I say firmly, internally cringing at the crack in my voice. ‘The bond I have established is tearing me down, and until he is whole he will keep dragging me into the Void with him.’

‘Then break the bond.’ Imshael replies angrily. ‘It was a mistake in the first place… And you cannot travel into the Fade so weakened, you will be an easy prey for the demons. You are positively leaking pain and they will come, like rabid animals following a whiff of blood.’

‘Well then, I suppose I will have to rely on you to keep me out of trouble, won’t I, **my  Lord**?’ I ask with the smallest inflection of irony. ‘Breaking the bond is not an option. It would destroy him and with it, any chance of getting answers.’

Imshael throws his claws in the air with exasperation, his eyes glowing gold. I can feel the helpless frustration coming from him, as well as genuine worry hidden underneath. I grasp his claw as it lowers, squeezing it lightly.

I am not that weak.

‘This isn’t a good moment for your disappearance, Pride.’ Counters Nervlis. ‘Already your absence these past two months has been noted, and the vultures are raising their heads trying to attribute the worst of their problems to your interference.’

‘Ah. Antiva, right?’ I nod to myself.

‘Or Ben’Hassrath, but Antivan’s Royal family has better means.’

‘Well then, this creates a wonderful opportunity.’

Nervlis looks at me without understanding.

‘Let us use these rumours and point the Inquisition tilting at Windmills. Throw a suggestion there and plant a few clues about me being involved with… Let me see… Armada! Swing by a few ports, show off our new friend Rain over there, perhaps insinuate I had something with the recent change of leadership there…’

My smile stretches, a wolfish grin with a cutting edge. Nervlis also begins smirking.

‘That ship business years ago… Fine, I will steer them in that direction. But it won’t work for too long, **do** finish your business in timely manner, my lady.’

‘You know me. I will try, but I am counting on your creativity here.’

Nervlis rolls his eyes at this obvious flattery but stands down and I know that I’ve won.

Of course I could just say that I’m doing it and they would have to accept it… But this time I have sound arguments I do not mid sharing.

Cole looks at me sadly but doesn’t try to speak, knowing that the decision is out of his hands.

‘Do not tire yourself out, Pride.’ He advises quietly. ‘Crossing over won’t be easy.’

‘I know, Cole.’ I seek to reassure him. ‘That’s why I am taking you with me. I hope you will help me should I falter.’

Imshael snorts at the conditionality of my statement. All of us know it is not a question of **if** , but rather **when**. I am falling to pieces.

My weakness forces us to rely on external factors to assist our journey. Imshael spends a few days after Nervlis and Rain’s departure searching for a preexisting tear in the Veil. Enlarging it is a much different and easier task, requiring far less force than its creation. Fortunately there is White Spire with its mages, who even in their obedience wear at the Veil daily. Imshael takes a considerable risk when he infiltrates it for a few days, and once I find out we have a loud argument about avoiding recognition and taking chances surrounded by Templars.

‘It is **your** decision to continue this folly!’ My pet demon finally snaps. ‘Surely you must know you are too weak to attempt this on your lonesome; and neither Cole nor I have sufficient power to do it from the ground up. Nor are you strong enough to travel great distance. We **need** to use an existing passage, and we need it nearby - the White Spire is the only option.’

‘Imshael, there are countless Templars on guard there. Were you to be discovered, there’s no getting out... Even for one of your might.’ I feel a cold shiver running up my spine at the very thought. They would destroy him.

I am terrified. I hadn’t considered losing him in my mad gamble. I find the thought… unacceptable. Painful.

And yet…

‘So. Are you going to abandon it?’ Imshael asks. His voice is steady and consciously unaffected and I know he knows the answer.

‘No.’ Even though the risk is through the roof, I cannot let it go. This is my only chance at understanding… Everything.

I’ve stopped believing in coincidences ages ago.

‘Then it is fortunate that I have found the means to go on.’ My demon announces flippantly. He takes care not to sound triumphant, but I still I throw a weak glare in his direction. The bond between us sings with it and I not fooled.

‘The Harrowing Chamber.’ He says, growing serious. ‘I’ve had a notion it would work, and I was right. Forcefully summoning countless demons for many years, even weak ones, has torn the Veil into shreds there. It took a while to navigate the maze of a prison they have built... but I could feel it from a fair distance away. It wasn’t that hard.’

‘Still, good job.’ I nod slowly. A burst of euphoria flashes through our connection, immediately muted away. I glance at Imshael who carefully avoids looking at me. He appears embarrassed at betraying his feelings in such manner. My demon has always taken care to manipulate the bond to convey only what he has allowed to show, and this is… Unexpected. Both the lack of control, and the happiness he has felt from my praise. Quite unexpected...

And quite adorable, though I take care not to let him know I think that.

He would doubtlessly find it offensive.

We sneak into the Spire the following night, my wheezing breath muffled by black cloth covering my head. I can barely see the contours of the landscape through it, Cole guiding my steps and Imshael leading ahead. I’ve never been forced to rely on others so completely, and it is highly disconcerting. But I trust them, I admit in the quiet of my heart. I trust them with my life, and I trust them to lead me where I need to go.

The two of them have an advantage of being able to perceive human presence from a significant distance. Even so we are forced to take cover under shadows weaved by Imshael a few times - the building is under heavy guard.

The Harrowing Chamber is entrenched in darkness. There are no windows here, and I can barely discern its circular shape. There is no furniture either, only six pillars in the middle of the room. I can see how they have been shaped to support glyphs, drawn on the floor so many times there are deep bruises left in the otherwise spotless marble.

I can breathe more easily here, and I note unsurprised that Imshael had been correct. The Veil **is** torn here, the Fade’s presence strengthening me in spite of my tiredness.

Regardless I slump down and close my eyes. I can hear Cole barricading the door with runes we’ve taken from the stash while Imshael begins drawing on the floor. A much different shape than the one they’ve been using here, one based on the structure of Rifts that have been appearing before.

I didn’t know Imshael could be so inventive. I had expected he would use brutal force to create a passage - using significant amount of mana in such unstable environment would have sufficed. But this is much more subtle… And much safer for all of us. The Templars will not realize anything happened until we are long gone, and the tear itself will not collapse with one of us halfway through.

Suddenly I am very glad I have convinced Imshael to see it my way. Everything proceeds much more smoothly than I could have hoped for… I feared I would need Fen’s assistance to continue on, and he would hardly grant me that. Not without countless arguments, and I feel I do not have the time.

And before I realize it we are on the other side.

Even in my poor condition I cannot help my marvel. And disgust.

I’ve never been through the Veil, before. I have dreamwalked with Fen, countless times, and I have seen the Fade take form… But my surroundings are like an open wound steeped in a greenish veins of infection. It is a distorted world, and it looks like it is bleeding.

Oh, Fen. What have you done?

Cole looks brighter here, a flash of light captured in a mortal shape while Imshael has shed his human form and spreads his wings. I gasp slightly when he captures me in his claws, and bringing me close to his body sweeps in the air. Cole follows us on the ground, easily keeping up with the weighted down demon. Such speed would be beyond any mortal, I note before focusing my eyes in the quickly shrinking distance.

Travelling here is more metaphorical than factual, and it is only as far as we make it. Imshael tries to explain it to me, why Fade folds and cuts the way as we travel. But I am in no state to really comprehend the mechanics of it - especially since these are distorted and not wholly complete. There are places where the magic is so ill that Imshael is forced to traverse them physically, where the dark fumes cling to my skin and instead of helping me breathe clog my lungs.

Finally we stop, Imshael clearly needing his rest.

‘We should be safe here, this is within my territory.’ He places me down on a relatively dry patch of withered grass, gracelessly dropping down next to me. ‘Keep watch.’ He mutters in Cole’s direction, who nods sharply and swiftly climbs a formation of rocks next to us.

I fall asleep yet again, lulled by an even breath of a demon next to me.

I find it deeply disturbing that I wake in his embrace, opening my eyes to a spiky violet chest. I scramble away, embarrassed. Imshael remains unperturbed either by my unexpected cuddling or the following shame, standing up and stretching lazily without comment.

‘Well, so far it was easy. Where now?’ He looks at me expectantly.

Somewhat apprehensive I revisit my landscape and touch the barrier I’ve placed between me and the Void-like presence that represents the torn spirit of wisdom within my soul.

I perceive the cracks on the barrier with dismay and even this small contact burns. It is crumbling. But I have enough of an indication from the way it pulls at me to perceive the direction we are to follow.

‘That way.’ I point without opening my eyes.

I feel rather than see Imshael nodding and he sweeps me up again. I keep my eyes closed, focusing on keeping my inner self in balance, every so often poking at the dark presence marring my soul. As the physical space between me and the other half of wisdom closes, it begins clawing at me even more strongly eager to be unleashed. Even though Fade isn’t particularly warm - or cold, just… neutral - I begin sweating as the mental effort takes toll on me. Imshael picks up on my inner battle and his wings begin beating more strongly, and the stuffy air brushes my face more rapidly.

I do not need my sight to know we are there, my barrier falling apart swifter than I can rebuild it. I bite on my lip and finally open my eyes, knowing that I’ve little time left. The other half of the spirit is in front of us, chained to the rock. It is blindingly white, a stark contrast from what I can feel inside me - and some part of me immediately understands. Two halves of one being, split by the creation of the Veil - it must have been positive and negative feelings that made it into a complete being, and the better half was stuck here. It makes sense, the dangerously distractive force must be balanced by what I can see here.

‘Cole.’ Imshael waves my spirit along and they immediately begin recreating the familiar to them both pentagram. I am too distracted to be of any help, desperately drawn to the wisp in front of me and struggling to keep away… Fortunately my demon is self-sufficient and surprisingly resourceful, pricking my wrist and taking the necessary blood without my input.

Unfortunately, the final part of the task has to be completed by myself. I almost crawl to the center of the glyph, barely conscious enough not to disrupt the painstakingly drawn lines. Plunging a blade into my hand - too deeply, I note dispassionately, seeing the metal has passed it **through -** I focus on activating the spell, muttering the phrases and closing the shapes. It is fortunate that there is so much magic to spare, the air crackling with power, Fade almost painfully eager to be used, else I wouldn’t have stood a chance.

There’s plenty, the spell closes around me and I can feel the barrier within my soul crashing down. And then there’s pain.

Even in the midst of it, blinded, I note how stupid of me was it, to even attempt this. And how not even Imshael and Cole have realized the vital mistake in my reasoning, so blinded by their trust in my infallible judgement. Fen would have known…  The connection works both ways. I have forgotten. It works both ways… Just as it has been working these few weeks… How had I missed the implication?

Forcing two halves of the spirit together **with my own soul as a conduit**? Across distance, not only physical but magical as well? It would have been, perhaps, possible, without the Veil… But with it? With it I am being torn apart the same way the spirit was in the past, as part of me screams with it on the mountain and the other weeps here, in the Fade.

Torn… Burnt… Frozen… I am beyond reach even though both Cole and Imshael must be trying. My faithful companions, dear ones… I am sorry. I am so sorry to leave you like this…

I scream - I must be screaming, a guttal yowl - even though I cannot hear it, my eyes and ears bleeding, my hand torn by the knife in it and by my shaking. And suddenly, there’s a snap as a multicolored thread tied to my soul breaks into pieces...

A vicious laugh, echoing in the distance..

And then… Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...the end.
> 
>  
> 
> Just joking.  
> I intended for this chapter to go a bit further than it did, but then some parts of it grew in my hands and it seemed like a good cut-off point. I hope I will be able to put up another chapter before Christmas but I am not promising anything. There's a lot to do before 24th, unfortunately. And the next chapter is both important and uncomfortable to write, even though I have it almost completely planned.


	13. A choice of...

**A choice of...**

_Make your choice._

I rapidly open my eyes with a silent scream stuck in my throat and otherwordly words pounding in my ears, even though I did not hear anyone speak. I blink a few times in disorientation, taking in my surroundings.

A stark contrast to the pain and doom fresh in my memories. A gentle breeze lifts yellow curtains and makes the flowers on the windowsill sway. Tulips, I note, pink and red, placed in a plain white vase. The sun is close to setting, long shadows betraying the late hour. The skies outside are clear and clean, and bird songs are soft, sleepy.

The one thing not fitting this tranquility is an IV drip attached to my arm, and the peeping machinery over my bed. I fall back on the fluffy bedding, trying to understand the situation.

Clearly, I’m back on Earth.

But how is it possible? I remember quite vividly… My heart stopped! And the geas broke. That pain is not something I could mistake, it mirrored the one I felt upon the initial casting. Quite unforgettable, despite my honest wishes to the contrary.

Why am I here? What exactly has happened? I try to recall all details of that situation. It does not come easy, everything coloured in red haze and a glitter of tears.

The doors open, and I instinctively reach under the pillow… And find an empty space where the dagger usually would lay. I deflate, struck again by this reminder that I am not on Thedas. In comes my mother, with a fresh IV packet in her hand.

How unusual, I can recognise it easily.

‘Oh, honey, are you awake?’ She sounds surprised. ‘I did not expect it for a while yet.’

I smile in greeting and reach out to her, hugging her lithe body.

She appears to have adjusted well to my unique condition. It took some time, but we are long past the initial drama. Words cannot describe how glad I am to be spared of it in at least one of my worlds… Though I am certain that I see only what my mother chooses to show me, and that there are plenty tears whenever I fall asleep, not to wake the following morning.

It has never concerned me before. For it to happen right now, at this very moment… It can only be explained by the shock I’ve experienced. It has made me retrospective… Which is kind of ironic, since in usual circumstances it would be much too late for any changes in my life.

That’s a chilling realization.

I died. I died. I...

My thoughts keep circling around this single sentence, and I feel an unpleasant sluggishness in my body. As if every move and every reaction is somehow slower, hindered by the fact I would dearly deny.  I died...

Finally I grow exasperated with this endless cycle. Focus, Pride, focus. Do not allow these meaningless inconveniences to dictate your behaviour, that’s unseemly. Unlike Pride.

‘It wasn’t exactly a planned return.’ I reply honestly, even if it is skirting around the issue. ‘But I’m glad to be back.’

I cannot look her in the eye. It would expose my words for the lie they are. Fortunately my mother fusses the way mothers do, bustling about the room. She closes the window, fluffs my pillow and is being a busybody in general, expressing her concern in all the moves around me. I finally manage to shoo her away, wishing for some space to think, even though I do not say so directly.

Fen has clearly told me, were I to die I would remain on Thedas. My spirit chained to my physical body would be drawn and swallowed by natural cycle there. Was he, perhaps, wrong? Or did something… change? Have I changed?

I snort at the inanity of that question. Of course I did. It would be better to inquire - how have I changed? And… why? What does it mean…?

It is tempting to allow myself time to analyze everything slowly. I could certainly use a breather, these past few weeks had been hectic and stained by my constant sickness. Unfortunately, I cannot afford it.

It pricks my conscience that just after my return I am thinking of a way to get back… But the events in Thedas are unfolding rapidly, and even my temporary absence could cost us a lot. I cannot forget, Fen does not know as much as I do about the political scene… Even with Nervlis there to assist him they could use me.

I curse my stupidity as I recall one more thing - the time difference between my two worlds is not linear… And the one thing I can be certain of is that it passes much more swiftly on Thedas than on Earth.

I bite my lip, suddenly nervous. What if there’s no way back? I stand up rapidly and begin circling the room, ignoring the trickle of blood from my increasingly more pained lip. It is a miracle I am still breathing, after all. I am increasingly more worried, until I recall the words I have dreamed. There’s no mistaking the power behind them. And I can’t see why would they lie to me - what would be the purpose? No, I have a way back to Thedas - only I need to find it.

My mother calls me for an evening meal - a tasteless slosh of vitamins in an easily digestible form. With the amount of time I spend being fed liquids directly pumped into my bloodstream, anything more solid would have dire consequences. My stomach is not used to it and apparently it would result in much unpleasantness. The medical terms my mother dishes out in the argument completely pass me by, but I recognise the necessity. Regardless, I remain thoroughly unimpressed with my fare.

To forget the disgusting food I focus on my companions, marveling at the growth of my brother and the lines of exhaustion etched into my father. But most of all, I am distracted and astounded by the clarity of my mind.

I look to my mother and recall how she held me close when I was four and cried, because a rabbit in my preschool had been sick. The creature made it, however, and a few weeks later she was swallowing her distaste while assisting me while cleaning its cage.

I look to my brother and remember the day he was brought before me, red in the face and squirmy, ugly and yet inexplicably beautiful as only newborns can be. I swore to myself I would try to be the best sister I could be - and bitterly consider the many ways in which I have failed.

I look to my father and think on his stern voice and countenance as he told me to stop living in my fantasies and instead consider my future. How painting was an unsuitable job, with unreliable profits lack of stability. I was sixteen, and my world has fallen apart. I remember the terrible argument that followed, the tears and then my surrender, as I allowed them to push me into safer direction.

He had done it because he loved me and worried about me - and for a moment I regret that it was never an option for me.

It is strange, this clarity with which I can bring to my mind all these events that had happened years ago. And not only them - as I search my memory, names and events pop up - Lisa, Tim… Jeff. I remember how to use computer and how to switch channels on TV, and everything suddenly makes a crystal clear sense. It is as if those long years in between, clouding my memory… Were barely a moment. As if the fog on my memories was forcibly removed, swept away.

I remember more about my life than I ever did. I recall the blue colour of the dress of my first doll, and how the car my parents had owned fifteen years ago was green. How the bicycle my brother got on his seventh birthday had a fault and had to be reimbursed…

And my mind is reeling from this.

How is it possible?

I barely participate in the chatter during the dinner, and blindly make my way to my room. As I lay down trying to come up with answers, there’s none to be had. Still, even though I know it would hurt my family, I will try to make my way back to Thedas. There’s too much happening on the other side, so I push this newfound clarity away and force myself to meditate. Until my breath is even, my thoughts calm, and I slowly fall into the familiar darkness…

_Make your choice._

I wake up the following morning, frustration wrenching my gut and the voice ringing in my head. The spark in my soul which allowed me to traverse the boundaries of reality… is gone. There’s no thread of geas which allowed me - nay, forced me - to follow, dragging me back to Thedas. But that was artificial, forced upon my by Mythal. No, what is worse is that I cannot feel my initial powers anymore, either.

As if by ripping my soul apart in Thedas… I have ripped it instead.

I go to the toilet and perform my morning ablutions in daze. A strange face looks back at me from the mirror - and I can feel the… displacement.

I have gotten used to the fragile status quo I have reached in my life. Now that it has been broken, I suddenly find myself afraid... Because a part of me knows what path to take in order to return to Thedas. And yet, doubt lingers. And guilt.  

I could take remain on Earth without much trouble, if I wanted to. I am not as lost as before, and possibly I could retrieve some things I have lost during my… let us call it adventure. Not everything, certainly - Jeff’s disapproving face comes to mind - but I could make my life here.

It is much different now. Before there was no choice - there was no way to avoid my fate. How can I hurt them like this? My dearest mother, my proud yet kind father… My caring brother.

What is even more terrifying is that there’s no uncertainty in me about it. I know what I will do, and this… dubious gift of clarity and remembrance only makes it more painful. Because before, in spite of my best wishes and overall fondness for them - my family members have been strangers to me. Lost in time and forgotten. But now I make this decision fully conscious of how much they really love me - and how much my family has sacrificed for my sake.

I look into my haunted eyes and see the mask of my pride crumbling away. Stripped from pretences I am trembling, disgusted by my pathetic self. Incapable being true to my desires, incapable of honesty. Lie upon lie, building another lie. I’ve never been brave, I just wouldn't be able to live with myself had I made other decisions.

Is it even a choice, when my moves are predetermined? Am I following an invisible line of fate, thrust upon me, without any choice whatsoever? Is having a choice an illusion?

A knock on the door.

‘Is everything okay there, Joanne?’ A voice mingled with worry comes from the other side.

‘I’m fine, mum.’ I sink my face into the cold water, trying to wash away the horror of my realizations. ‘I’m just leaving.’

‘You have a guest.’ My mother has an raised eyebrow but doesn’t push, and I tuck a wet curl away from my exposed neck. A guest, is it?

I find him by the table, snacking on the biscuits and drinking an aromatic coffee. I sit on the opposite side, and look at Tim with a slight frown. He seems uncomfortable, which is not surprising considering the circumstances, yet still determined.

‘Joanne.’ He begins, his voice steady. ‘I apologise for my role in the… situation you found yourself in.’

So we are calling it a situation. I have been betrayed by all the people closest to me, and it is a… situation. How amusing. And how infuriating. Sweeping it all under the rug in such manner.

‘I know we have drifted apart, however you had been our closest friend and the reason why I, and Lisa, have met. We would very much like to see you at our wedding, in three months.’ Tim fumbles around his pockets and produces an envelope with my name on it. And then he takes a relieved breath and drops his gaze to his feet, his hands quivering nervously.

I look at the invitation to buy some time, considering my response. It is a pretty, dainty thing with flowers and flowery script and all the expected words - kindly, we would love to, dearest friend...

Tim has a reason to be nervous about, for I am very tempted to send him away with a very honest wish to the devil. I haven’t forgiven him, I - Pride - cannot even begin to imagine forgiving him. I could have ignored the geas, back then - it was not too late to return to the life hear. But because of his - and Lisa’s - words to my parent and in the court, testifying against me… Stripping me of my free will… They sent me back to hell.

So no, there’s no forgiveness in me, and had I been Joanne from the past I would not have hesitated telling him that.

Bile raises in my throat when I realize that I am going back there on my own account, this time. Perhaps in this circumstances, Tim’s Joanne would have forgiven him, in the end.

But I am not her, anymore, and so I do neither. I have no scruples about letting him live the rest of his life with regret… Yet considering my planned course of action, I would not wish him to hound my parents once I am gone. It will be painful enough for them, without him constantly reminding them of their loss.

So I swallow my bitterness and respond like the politician in me requires. I lie, as I am recently wont to do, without a blink of an eye.

‘I forgive you. You had my best interest in mind, even if you went about it the wrong way.’ It is an effort not to choke on these words, but I smile more widely in reassurance and continue on in a purposely gentle tone. ‘However, unfortunately, my health does not allow me prolonged departures from home. And since you are planning your celebration…’ I look on the card in faux confirmation, even though my memory easily brings up the information to the forefront of my mind. ‘...some two hundred miles away from here, I cannot promise my presence.’

Tim sighs and nods dejectedly. ‘We would love to see you there.’ He implores once again.

‘And I would love to be there, but I have been very sick, Tim.’ I reply calmly. ‘I’ll call you sometime to meet up when I am up to it, ok?’

‘Sure.’ He stands up, and extends his hand and I shake it automatically. ‘Well, it was good to see you, Joanne. I’ll be in touch.’

Tim picks up his coat and leaves, nodding to my mother on the way out.

I’m quite sure that when I will not respond to his calls, Tim will back off. I might have said I’ve forgiven him but I haven’t mentioned us being friends again, and he is bright enough to get a hint. Especially once the word gets around about my… departure.

I stretch a bit, surprised to find myself grateful for the distraction his appearance provided. The tension has fled, and I can look myself in the eye and not cringe. It allayed my self-recrimination enough so that I can focus back on the important issues - things I need to deal with before my departure. Time is ticking, and I am conscious that it is ticking much faster on the other side as well.

The weather is chilly and gusty, but fortunately there’s no rain. Even though it’s winter, in recent years there was little snow and I recall some articles about climate change I had browsed on the Internet some three years ago. Apparently there’s little chance of that happening anytime soon.

Even though I would have liked to see the white fluff around me, since the city looks so much more bearable when it’s covered and not gray, I count my blessings that at the very least I will not get wet. I take a taxi to the bank, huddling underneath my coat and shaking. I need not wait long to be served, midday hours are not particularly busy in the middle of a week when everyone’s at work. My request raises some eyebrows, but I am allowed to transfer all of my account’s savings to my parents. Once that is dealt with, whistling I take a walk to the gallery nearby. My works are not, in fact, currently on the display, but I know another exhibition will be put up in a few months. My father has dropped by and delivered the remainder of my paintings from the attic here, as I had asked him before my departure.

We take some time to evaluate them, and the manager accepts the new account number without fuss. She thanks for my continued patronage effusively, and it takes much longer than I would have liked to extract myself from her gratitude.

Pleased with myself I return home, stopping briefly by a military shop and purchasing a few things. Afterwards I spend the whole evening trying to engrave my family into my memories as best I can. I ensure to talk with my brother a bit, as well as share hugs with my mother and father, without looking too unnatural about it. The guilt wells up with me, along with tears, but I keep going.

At the very least I have insured they will have no material worries in their retirement, I tell myself firmly. Money is not, cannot be, compensation for their coming loss, but it will make everything else much easier.

I also know that this is a cowardice on my part. I am not willing to admit to them that this is the last evening we share - I cannot face their heartbreak and tears. It could sway my course, I could hesitate. And then I would have never forgiven myself.

Even in my last moments I remain selfish.

Once all lights are turned off, I sit once again in front of the mirror. I had considered long and hard how am I going to do this - went through and discarded multiple ideas. In the end, there’s only one moment when a soul is free from its chains in this world. And as such, I was left with but a one way to take.

I thought about not allowing my parents to know of my fate at all, but I decided it would be too cruel. They would waste away, trying to find a sign of me somewhere. No, it’s better to cut off any hope definitively.

I finger the edge of blade I have bought experimentally, drawing droplets of blood on my pale skin.

Even if I am wrong, there’s no second chances on this.

I take the military knife and slash into the vein of my left hand, and then switch the grip and do the same with the other. The cuts are done vertically, along the veins, as I know this is the quickest way to do this as well as not quite as painful - or graphic - as simply cutting one’s throat.

I watch my strength drip away, the lifeblood washed away under a stream of water from the sink. As my eyes slowly close and I fall into my last slumber, my last hope is that the mess left over will not be too gruesome for my mother to deal with.

And then, once again, I am swallowed by the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be more emotional than it turned out to be. I was writing and rewriting scenes and nothing satisfied me, until I realized the reason for it - I was trying to make Pride into someone she wasn’t. Or at least, not anymore. So I was trying to write about her indecisiveness - after she has been given back memories - about her return, when some part of me knew that she wasn’t undecided. There was no decision there, she WAS going back if she could. The choice has been long made; she has learned to love Thedas and accepted certain commitments there.  
> Once I’ve realized that, it got easier, and finally I could deliver you the chapter - one with different emotional vibe than I initially intended, but nonetheless, I hope you liked it.


	14. Ancient...

**Ancient**...

I am weightless, and standing up I feel no strain. I am bodiless, and lifting my hand I marvel at the lack of any physical stimulus. I spread my arms and there’s no effort, no muscles to pull or relax. Just nearly transparent foam responding to my directions, and the motion is not exactly a motion, just a blur and an extension.

It comes as little surprise that I have lost my physical self in this debacle. Some part of me almost expected it. Death does this to mortals - or so I was told - even if I am not a good example of one. I allow myself a deep breath and relax, glad to be back. There was a shadow of fear of a much different outcome. There was no way to safely test my theory on Earth, I had to make this leap of faith.

Looking around I note that I came back exactly where I have died - although the chains, Wisdom, Imshael and Cole are long gone. I consider trying to find them before discarding the notion for now. I wouldn’t know where or how to begin. Fortunately, our bonds stand strong and I need only wait.

My mind calms and my consciousness stretches beyond me and my meager wisp of existence. It is initially a little bit strange and unsettling, but as my focus clears I can perceive things differently. The Fade I see is no longer gritty and demonic from my memories, instead it becomes a weave of power. Strings of green brought together and shaped to create an image. A canopy that is sometimes thinner, rugged and even full of holes - and in some places thick and dense, firmly rooted in reality. I extend my hand and touch them, and become even more amazed as individual strings become pliant under my fingers. Experimentally, I pull one of them away and it loosens. I try to change it around experimentally. A loud crash not a far distance away startles me and there’s a pile of rubble where once a high rock spiked in the air. It is absolutely enthralling, and I lose myself in the experience of manipulating the thread back where it once used to be and coaxing the rock back up. After some strenuously delicate moves, it builds back up - different for my touch, I can feel, yet outwardly the same. I float in the rocks direction to examine it closer and analyse the change I have wrought.

The pattern of threads remains largely unchanged, but the one I have pulled away and then put back in thrums with power, no longer merely green but suddenly touched by a glimmer of silver. It takes me a long time of manipulating different objects around me before I figure out the exact change my interference has brought. Once I do, I am amazed - somehow, I’ve made the rock stronger, less likely to fall apart under the strain.

I am in no hurry now that I’ve returned to Thedas and a curious part of me wants to discover the new powers my trandescention has granted me. It is not as easy as I would wish, manipulating the threads into shapes, consciously enhancing or weakening existing properties. Yet it brings me unexpected joy - and I thought I had forgotten how to be joyful, even the happiest of my memories tainted by the loss and blood.

So curious and lighthearted I experiment, lost for a indeterminate amount of time - I do not know how long it takes for Imshael to find me. But he does just as I expected he would, the bond between me and my spirits sings louder than ever. It is a thing of beauty I did not appreciate enough before, tendrils of power woven directly into my soul.

Imshael is a wrathful mass of gold energy, I observe with amusement. I used to be blind to this, but his form appears much too small and too meager a container for his power. Most of the demons take pleasure in the larger forms to accommodate their strength - I recall Fen’Harel telling me of a mighty Nightmare who has taken his entire domain and encompassed it with himself. In this, as in many other things, Imshael is unique among his kind.

A whisper of suspicion forms in my head as I watch him closing in, but I squash it before it can take root, so that my demon cannot perceive it. And then it is completely forgotten as I listen with growing entertainment to his angry rant, which begins before he has landed. Imshael thoroughly derides my carelessness, the trust placed recklessly in one unknown to me, a pledge I have made and had to fulfill… I suppose had circumstances been different I would have been angry with him undermining my position of authority in such manner. But I can hear the pulsating worry beneath the disparagement of my decision-making, and even more profound relief.

So I let him vent in peace.

‘We sealed _Wisdom_ in my palace, but he hasn’t spoken a word since your disappearance.’ Imshael finishes in a huff, looking at me expectantly.

‘Ah. So I did manage to put him back together.’ I flex my fingers and realize pointlessness of the exercise as there is nothing to **flex** anymore. Also, looking through my body parts and seeing things gets old fast, and now verges on creepy. ‘That’s… actually, that’s a wonderful coincidence. I have questions.’

‘I expected you might.’ Imshael pulls me closer. I frown surprised that he had succeeded, but remain still as he carefully looks me over.

‘You look somehow… different.’ He scrunches his nose thoughtfully. ‘Somehow… fuller? No, that’s not it. Brighter? That’s somewhat more accurate, even if not exactly precise...’

I can see it is really bothering him.

‘Imshael. I’m fine. Stop worrying.’ I wave him away. There’s a wordless mutiny in his expression and many unsaid words racing on the tip of his tongue. But in the end he sighs resignedly and takes flight, pulling me along in his embrace. His large, bat-like wings beat with mechanic precision, strongly pulling the stale air in and using it to lift themselves further up. And then, once we have reached the height he deems appropriate, Imshael spreads them even further - and we begin a slow glide downwards, where in the distance an ominous building looms over the area.

I find myself surprised that the demon can affect my wispy form - in the past, June had to create special runes to achieve this effect. But then again I am - mostly - spiritual in nature, and demons are spirits. Perhaps that explains it.

Imshael’s home grows larger and larger in my eyes, a large fortified mansion which appears to be haunted by the shadows of the fallen past. It resembles Elvhen residences of old, even though the white has withered into grey, and the once-green veins in the marble became a dark violet shade, nearly black. The high windows cast long shadows, their glass dark and gloomy.

The ground itself bleeds, a red slime pouring out in all that encompasses Imshael’s domain. I see it now like I haven’t seen it before, the high vantage and my unexpected gift combining into unpleasant truth - I can see the terrain below as a breathing, leaving thing… wounded by inexplicable force. Some parts of the Fade are black and blistered, like heavy burn marks. In other places it oozes with putrid black or green liquid, like an infected wound futilely trying to expel the poison rotting it from the inside.

But Imshael’s domain is like an open wound, freshly cut through… Painted in crimson.

I close my eyes, trying to remove this image from my mind - and with it, the unwanted awareness just how much hurt Fen’Harel has caused. Before, it had been academic knowledge… But now that I see the skewed lines and the twisted pain, it is undeniable. It must be reversed, no matter the cost.

We land right in front of the large doors, which open at Imshael’s gesture. I enter the place in silence, and feel a sudden spike of worry through my bond with the demon. Of course he would pick up on my distress...

‘Nice atmosphere.’ I comment blandly, deflecting his attention before it becomes unbearable.

‘I can change the decor, should you so desire.’ I can feel his smirk behind me, but the offer sounds sincere. I wave my hand in dismissive permission and Imshael bows deeply in a mockery of acknowledgement - and suddenly I am assaulted by an armful of Cole. Who also seems to have no problems touching my quite incorporate self.

‘Pride! I knew you would be back.’

I pat him awkwardly, uncomfortable with such overt emotional reaction.

‘I’m glad to see you, Cole.’ I am about to extricate myself from him when he jumps back, restless energy positively leaking from him.

‘You must have a lot on your mind. You’ve been gone for a while, Imshael over there was beginning to doubt you. But I’ve always believed in your return, Pride. You want to see wisdom yes? Of course you do. I will lead you there, I do not want to be a bother…’

‘Cole!’ I snap at him and the spirit stops with the onslaught of disjointed sentences, looking at me in askance and twitching nervously. ‘Slow down a bit. Now, where did that come from? You could never be a bother to me.’

Imshael joins us, unpleasant sneer further distorting his already strange demonic features.

‘Your wolf was rather… displeased with the news of what has transpired, and had said a few choice words to Cole. Apparently he blamed us for not stopping you from your mad venture.’ He looks rather cross, and I am uncertain whether it is with me or with Fen. Quite possibly, both of us.

And then his words hit me fully, and… Oh. Void take me, Fen must be pissed.

But then, he might, just possibly might have a point this time. After all, I went and offed myself in a rather spectacular manner. It’s not everyday that someone manages to rip their soul apart… And quite literally too, not like those metaphysical sufferings artists tend to suffer from.

Damn, I will have to think of how to deal with it. Only I suspect Fen will annoy me before I begin to feel even remotely guilty, and so I can probably skip the planning process and get right to how I will get back at him for that.

I can see it in my imagination, an angry rant that will deride my mental prowess, and all that jazz… An overprotective wolf in full overdrive glory.

And then I want to slap myself, because I have been attempting to figure out a possible retort for the yet nonexistent offence I expect my wolf to make… Before it even happened. Smart, Pride, real smart, but maybe focus on the immediate future. Small steps. Let’s begin with interrogating a Wisdom… and maybe getting your body back.

And then I realize what has happened, and glare at my two companions half-heartedly. They have managed to distract me from my worry, and suddenly… It is not as daunting as it first seemed.

We can make it right. The resolution reaffirms itself in my head. We cannot put off this issue simply because of war - it is more important than petty mortal squabbles. The fate of Thedas is on the line… And now that I’ve finally chosen my world, I really ought to fight for it.

Imshael shakes his head at me with amused smile playing at his lips while Cole looks supremely confused. Clearly they were at least partially following my thought process, and I remind myself to be more careful and to keep a tighter leash on my bonds with them. The way our connection is so strong now, it all keeps spilling without my intention.

‘Well then, shall we?’ Imshael once more bows theatrically and leads the way to the dungeon.

Which is not really underground so it shouldn’t qualify as one, but the walls are dark and splashed with blood and I feel like I am entering a place of torture and suffering. Cole shudders but remains by my side, reassuring himself of my presence with not-quite-covert looks. In spite of the atmosphere and a place clearly in contradiction with his kind nature, he does not look much perturbed aside from that initial reaction. On the contrary, he is glowing in joy and I smile softly at his obvious attachment to me.

Wisdom looks serene and unbothered in his cell, even though I am sure Imshael must have tried to pry away any and all knowledge from him. Seeing us enter he lifts his head and I am surprised to find him quite… tangible, with a clearly distinct body and features, not unlike my companions. A far cry from the weak wisp of existence I’ve seen before.

‘Pride. Welcome back. I’ve been expecting you.’

I’m somewhat thrown by his attitude, and even more by his voice. It has a timeless quality to it, neither rugged nor clean, just… Otherworldly. Similar somehow to the one I’ve been hearing back on Earth, although not quite the same.

‘Was your proposal a trap?’ I ask straightforwardly before I get even more confused.

He takes his time before replying.

‘There was no trap in the proposal.’

I consider his words with a frown.

‘But you knew what would happen if I had gone through with the task you had set for me.’

‘Yes.’

Imshael hisses behind my back, making a move to lounge at Wisdom. Cole stops him, shaking his head and I can hear a mute echo of their mental conversation through the bond. But I am too focused on the enigmatic spirit before me to pay any attention.

‘Why?’ I can find no better words to explain my confusion. He does not seem to bear me any ill will, and yet there he is admitting his guilt. It is simply incomprehensible, especially considering his captivity. It… doesn’t make any sense.

‘That’s a bit of a long story.’ The spirit warns me, but there’s no apparent deflection there. He clearly wants to make a point.

‘I have time.’ I reply, sitting on the floor. Not that I need to, it’s just for my own piece of mind. I’ve always listened to the stories from the floor, whether it be told by my parents back on Earth near a blazing fireplace, or during camps by a campfire… Or when Fen has been regaling me with his tales, his black wolf form patiently explaining his world to the small, insignificant me.

‘The Creators have built Thedas upon the golden rules of three, six and nine.’ The spirit begins, his voice musing. ‘Three Guardians, six Evanuris, nine circles of protection to safeguard the cycle. Three stages of the cycle, six participant races… I could list how everything and anything correlated by the rules, but it’s not the important part. The important thing is that they have made a mistake - a mistake in the very beginning. The Guardians, who were supposed to monitor the tenets of the three in the world.’ He blinks, suddenly looking at me. ‘You should be able to guess their identities.’

I am thrown by the sudden inquiry sent my way. There are so many questions at the tip of my tongue I have to force myself into thinking about his words.

‘I would assume… Well, Mythal and Fen’Harel, at a guess? And maybe Elgar’Nan.’

The spirit glances at me penetratingly, not confirming or denying my theories and simply resuming his story.

‘They were most specifically connected to the three spheres - Thedas, Muir - what you now call Magic, or Fade - and Cycle.’

‘Let me guess, Mythal was given Thedas, Fen’Harel the Muir and Elgar’Nan the Cycle?’ I allow myself to spread more on the ground. It is merely an illusion of comfort, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

‘The Evanuris were entrusted with the oversight of the mortals, to ensure that no race could rise above others.’

‘How did the Creators expect it to work?’ I wonder out loud. Obviously, the gods would strive to push their own followers to greater powers and glory, for their own glory.

‘For ages, the circle of co-dependence had remained in equilibrium.’ Wisdom ignores me once more, although for the first time he addresses my words indirectly soon after. ‘Whenever one of the races gained advantage over the others, the five remaining Evanuris would band together and make sure the one who dared to put their head above the crowd would be brought down quickly. The balance had held… Until one of the guardians broke their own path.’

‘Maestria, goddess of cycle has fallen in love with the Evanuris responsible for the Elvhen.’

My mind races as I catch up on the implications. Clearly, I must have been wrong in my assumptions - Mythal wasn’t responsible for Thedas… But more importantly, Elgar’Nan wasn’t the third guardian. The spirit implicated that I could guess all of their identities… Who was it, then? And why does it seem so important?

‘Suddenly, one race had a distinct advantage over others, which only grew in time. From one Evanuris they suddenly had two, and then three and four until their number grew to six and nothing and no one could challenge them.’ The spirit grows slightly wistful. ‘But then, Maestria broke even greater taboo. In order to secure their everlasting supremacy she has broken the cycle of the Elvhen. They would no longer grow old, but once they had reached their maturity their time would be suspended, an eternal youth granted to them.’

‘However, soon she has learned what you already know - mortals, even of the most enduring race, are not capable of dealing with eternity. Their minds dwindle under the burden of their memories until nothing remains. And thus, Uthenara was created and entrusted to one of the Evanuris, a whole separate cycle,  another breach of the trust Creators had placed in her.’

‘Her offences could not go on. Already the existence of two contradictory rules within the world were unveiling other truths. The Creators had to intervene.’

I’m utterly fascinated by the story he weaves before me, and I can feel many pieces of the puzzle clicking together. But here I must have an explanation, so with a hint of regret I interrupt him.

‘Two contradictory rules?’

The spirit blinks at the unexpected interruption.

‘One cannot be mortal and immortal at the same time.’ He smiles at me indulgently. ‘The Creators have laid the rules aeons ago. And yet, the Elvhen would not die of age as mortals ought to, but a sword to their neck would cause death. They belonged to two incompatible cycles at the same time. A paradox.’

I can finally see what he has meant. Indeed, a paradox. I haven’t considered it before…

‘So the solution had to be found. The easiest one would be removing the root of the problem, replacing it with a new balancing tool and leaving the rest of the problem to resolve itself, but… The Creators are just that. They create. They do not destroy. It is not in their nature.’

‘So they were looking for an answer to their problems, and they have found one.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Any guesses about the identity of the Third Guardian?  
> The next chapter will be a bit historical as well, although we will have some politics because in spite of Pride's current leisure, Thedas does go on. I will be explaining more on what has happened while she was absent, as well as there will be lessons, Wisdom and some consequences Pride will not like - I'm sorry, but not much of Fen again. Cheers.


	15. A price of...

The spirit’s story ends up spanning over many days, as I come and go listening to the next part whenever I feel like it. In the meantime, I work at creating my own body which ends up being much harder than I’ve expected and learning the new gift I have received whenever that task proves too frustrating. I’m slowly but surely given pieces to the puzzle that is Thedas and my presence here, step by step.

‘I am the oldest being on Thedas.’ Wisdom says one day, and I believe him. Really, by now it is hard to even imagine not trusting his words. ‘If the name I was given could be translated into any of the current languages, the closest would be… Chronicle. That was, and remains my task - immortalising the fate of Thedas until the end of times.’

‘A bit flimsy, entrusting such task to a being that could be destroyed.’ I note carefully.

‘Spirits do not die.’ He smiles indulgently at my lack of awareness. ‘We are, similarly to Evanuris, bound in an infinite cycle. Once our current vessel is destroyed we enter the cycle to be reborn, at a later date. Most spirits, however, lose their memories and along with it their identity - dying in essence, even if not in fact. My gift as the oldest is to remember, always.’

It can also be a curse, I realize almost immediately. No wonder he is so indifferent, so unemotional when most spirits I have met exude with their primary trait for all to see. It is self-defence mechanism rather than an actual lack of sympathy, I think. Of course, I am not insensitive enough to ask, and then it is really none of my business.

‘The Creators have long left this world.’ He tells me on another occasion, and my still mostly incorporeal self falls to her knees before flickering out of existence like a snuffed out candlelight. I groan in annoyance since achieving this has taken me many hours of concentrated focus. ‘That’s why their interference is so limited - they cannot be precise from a distance. And lack of meticulousness from beings of their power would only end in disaster.’

‘So what, they have found me?’ I ask somewhat disbelieving. I certainly don’t remember being in any way exceptional from my days back home, not in the manner they would need.

‘Not exactly.’ The spirit pauses. ‘There are countless beings similarly gifted, capable of transcending their physical boundaries and travelling different worlds. Planeswalkers.’

I nod, unsurprised. It would be quite arrogant to consider myself unique in that, and I’ve never really thought so.

‘The Creators have merely made this world more… likely to get such visitors. And then it was my task to choose the right one to make the necessary changes.’ Chronicle shrugs fatalistically. ‘I have to admit you were not what I have had imagined as an appropriate one.’

‘What changed your mind?’ I ask somewhat disgruntled. My pride is quite wounded hearing such blatant dismissal.

‘Circumstances did.’ The spirit shakes his head. ‘At first, you were rather insignificant, aside from Evanuris’ unexpected interest in you. Your fate was unfortunate, but I’m not beholden to sentimentality... But then, things around you shifted.’ His eyes glance in my direction with begrudging admiration.

‘Even without the gift, your actions were affecting Thedas. Some directions were desirable, others - quite dangerous. In the end, I knew the choice was taken from me; whether I accepted you or not, you WOULD play the role Creators have intended for one of your kind to take, partly consciously but mostly unintentionally. The question was whether you would be successful… Or destroy Thedas in your attempts. The jury is still out on that.’

‘That sounds a bit dramatic. For all the deaths I can take credit for, for all the destruction… I do not think I was capable of much interference. Not on the scale we are considering here.’

‘And yet your words were an inspiration and incentive for the one you call Fen’Harel, guardian of Muir to break the Cycle even further by removing Muir from the equation.’ The spirit shakes his head in disapproval. ‘Mythal was teetering on the brink of existence at the time, so could not interfere… In any case, her powers dwindled through her own machinations, and I am unsure whether she could have done anything in the first place. The separation of Muir was the main transgression of the second guardian… And although not the only one, the previous ones pale in comparison.’

‘Fen didn’t know what would happen!’ I defend him fervently, glaring at Chronicle.

‘No, he wasn’t the guardian of the cycle.’ The spirit admits. ‘Regardless he knew that this was something he should not do, for the Creators have shaped Thedas with reason and set up rules that governed it with wisdom. He should not have challenged them.’

‘He felt he had no choice…’ I mumble under my nose.

‘There’s always a choice. Doing nothing at all is also a choice.’ Chronicle counters evenly. I look at him sullenly, and he does not seem at all affected by our exchange. It is difficult to discuss things with a being wholly indifferent to the outcome of our debate.

Unexpectedly he abandons the issue of Fen, seemingly at random. ‘It has always been meant to be a choice for a Planeswalker to remain here indefinitely. I expect you wouldn’t know it since until recently you haven’t had it presented to yourself… Yet another thing that had shifted.’ And this conclusion brings us back to the initial topic.

I do not go to Chronicle the following day, still reeling from our latest encounter. Instead, I pester Imshael for the information about what has happened during my absence.

‘Plenty, of course! You’ve been gone for nearly three years, what did you expect?’ He snaps back at me, utterly fed up.

Hearing this does put things into perspective. I can also understand Fen’s worry a little better. The time has played its trick on me yet again…

Seeing my downcast posture, Imshael relents a little.

‘Cole has been keeping an eye on things for you. His reports can be a little… winded and disorganized, but I’ll summarize.’

Apparently, my absence did not stop the clock ticking. Fen has garnered a lot of support, mostly from the clans affiliated with his Disciples, although a few others have also declared their intent. Rain has been fitting in quite well and has taken to training the thus far disorganised elven bands into cohesive units, capable of war-time maneuvers. Imshael snickers a bit, recalling their first attempts at shifting formations which had gone... poorly. People falling out of their spots, blackened eyes and bruised ribs... It was fortunate they were using merely training swords, else the injuries would be much more severe. But Rain knows his trade, there are few who can compare. I smile with satisfaction, recalling the pains we went to secure him. I am glad it has proved a worthwhile endeavour, for he certainly seems motivated.

Nervlis' ruse about my initiative with the Armada has also worked, at least for a while. The Inquisition has uncovered my connections within as well as the ship-bribe I have offered them many years ago. Isabella served as a linchpin for this plot, Nervlis was using her gratitude to further the impression of us being involved. Her connections proved invaluable in leaving a false trail of clues to be found. The Inquisition agents heroically thwarted my dastardly plans to usurp the power of the largest fleet on Thedas, and proudly went home. Completely unaware, at least initially, of the countless toes they have stepped on, bulldozing their way and making outrageous claims. The Pirates were well aware I've had nothing to do with the latest upheaval in their ranks and did not appreciate being told otherwise by annoying meddlers.

It is the Orleasian arrogance in play once again, I muse thoughtfully. Leliana cannot get out of the mindset that she needs to help save the entire world, forgetting that the world oftentimes needs no saving, especially not by outsiders who know nothing about the real circumstances. Nervlis has played her by the nose expertly, and now the Armada itself has tentatively extended its hand in our direction. They are not careless enough to lend their assistance to losing cause, so as long as we are not winning it will be a marginal assistance at best... But even that counts as a major win in my books.

That is on the positive side of things, Imshael says somberly. My disappearance has created other problems, the major one being lack of communication with the humanity side of the board, especially Ferelden. I was the representative, the most visible ambassador... They knew me, they've dealt with me countless times, they could expect some things from me and knew what I've wanted in return. At least, in theory, I was a so-called devil you know. And Nervis is not trusted. After my supposed death his allegiances are questioned. Fen remains a complete unknown, a wildcard, which I could have smoothed over - had I been there. But my dearest second, for all his countless talents, is not much of a people-person and his skills for dealing with aristocracy are sorely lacking.

He just doesn't have the... flair. The arrogance coupled with courtesy and enjoyment of a convoluted word plays.

I've expected my wolf capable of picking up on Nervlis' slack... He has more than enough experience and charisma to pull it off. But I've forgotten that he is merely an elf in the eyes of the world, worse, an elven mage. Me? I've made a name for myself as a formidable foe and a generous friend, my reach and connections are almost legendary. People are exaggerating but it all works in my favour so I do not dispel this illusion. It has become so natural to me, so obvious, I have truly forgotten that my position is unique. And unless Fen reveals himself as a major power, his position is not.

Considering the scrutiny and danger revealing himself would bring, I think it was wise of him to give up on part of the diplomatic side of things and wait for my return. Confirming Inquisitor's accusations just would not do.

Imshael's information gives me a boost of motivation, as I spend countless hours on solidifying my form. It absorbs me so much Chronicle comes seeking me on his own, having grown impatient for my return.

'It will take you many years to achieve physical body the way you are going.' He notes dispassionately, observing my futile efforts. My concentration wanes and what  I've conjured flickers out of existence as if it had never been there.

I face the Wisdom Spirit with irritation.

'Any better ideas?' I ask snappishly, punching one of the decorative columns in the dreary room. My frustration only exacerbates when my hand passes right through the Fade stone.

He taps his chin thoughtfully and I am assaulted by unexpected jealousy for his ability to do this. Which is downright ridicoulous if I say so myself.

'For others perhaps not... I recommend using the gift Creators have seen fit to bestow upon you.' Chronicle responds, sitting down on the floor with clear intention to remain.

Well, if he is here already, might as well get a few more answers.

'What exactly is this gift?' I ask consideringly. If it really could provide me with the shortcut necessary to avoid years of work, I cannot afford to turn it down.

'It is what you will need to fulfill your intended role.' He replies steadily in that extremely measured yet cryptic way of his. Chronicle always makes me feel like an errant, impatient child that wants much more than is reasonable all at once, even if it would make it sick.

'Anything more specific?' I finally cannot bear the waiting. 'You realize it is hard to practice without any guidance whatsoever?'

'It is a spark of their own power.' Chronicle finally says after another long stretch of silence. 'It allows you to rewrite reality as you see it.'

To say I am astounded and overwhelmed is an understatement.

'So what, I am like them now?' The idea of omnipotence is much more scary than exciting, I find.

'Not even close.' Chronicle snorts derisively. 'You couldn't contain their power and remain alive. Your vessel is unsuitable for such might.'

The sense of relief spreads over me.

'You can affect things in a limited way. You are incapable of creating something from nothing, you can merely... change, shift things along. The exact constraints of your power are unknown to me, I expect you must find them out on your own.' He looks at me seriously. 'Overreaching your abilities will have unpleasant consequences. I recommend finding those boundaries now rather than when your physical body would bear the brunt.'

It is a prudent advice.

So instead of bashing my head against the wall of my non-material self, I turn my attention to this new ability I have received.

It is strange, seeing the world in waves and lines and threads interconnecting, colours intermingling. Chronicle explains to me that Creators do not see it that way, that this is adjusted to the capabilities of my restricted mind. While it is somewhat offputting to hear myself described in such manner I accept it with ill grace and continue to explore those new horizons that have opened up before me.

From what I vaguely recall of my past magical sight, this is very much different. Especially since even magic, the breathing Fade, flows now before me. Intermingled into every object here in this alternate reality, the green permeates and supports everything.

The manipulation itself is also no mean feat. At first, more often than not I rip apart the strand I have intended to merely shift, watching with dismay as a piece of rock crumbles in my hands like dust. I immediately understand that this is not only a powerful gift, it is also incredibly dangerous one - and one not given away easily, apparently. It takes inordinate amounts of concentration to succeed, and even then I have problems identifying what I have exactly changed until I check it. Chronicle is with me along for the journey, explaining the colours and the weave and the threes, sixes, and nines of the threads and symbols. And how Fade lacks many of them, separated from Thedas even though it was meant to be joint and thus decaying.

It is a trial and error sort of learning, because while Chronicle can clarify for me the meaning of what I see he has no power of manipulation on his own. And thus the mixing and matching and changing and shifting fall on me, with the spirit shaking his head whenever I fail.

Cole and Imshael often serve as test subjects, both of them capable of restoring themselves whenever I do something too out of bounds. They had shaped their own bodies and are intimately familiar with their rightful form, regardless how deep I reach to shift. We believe it to be safe...

But then I grow overconfident and more and more impatient... and careless.

It is one of the times when I rearrange Imshael's structure, trying to see how his body is built and sustained in physical form - to contrast it against my own failures. I touch the strands that shape him, identifying those I already understand and digging and tugging onto those I do not. Even in my rush to understand I usually am somewhat careful with my actions knowing that even the slightest tampering causes my spirits pain.

But this time I push too far and one of the silver strands snaps under my fingers... Causing one of the weaves to collapse, and then a whole shape to distort... Under my terrified gaze, Imshael falls to his knees, gasping out a moan of pain before dropping to the ground... And from his mouth, nose, from under his fingers and wings, on the inside and outwardly his veins burst and blood begins pouring out. Until not a single drop remains and he lies, withered and unconscious on the floor.

I am floored by the terror, crying out to Chronicle that I have killed him. I have killed one of my dearest spirits.

It takes Cole a long time to calm me down, repeating many times over to reach to my bond with Imshael and check for myself - Imshael is not dead. I have hurt him, badly, but he is stubborn and holds on.

Indeed, once the haze of fear clears from my mind I can feel the strong grip my demon has on our connection, as he latched onto it to separate himself from the pain.

It takes him many hours to restore what my carelessness has destroyed. I watch on as colour slowly returns to his white body, as blood begins flowing once more. His hollow cheeks fill in, as do his slumped muscles, vein after vein he puts himself back in order.

The incident stops me from further experiments for a few days, I cannot even look him in the eye. I should have been more prudent.  But then Cole came to me and we had a long talk about responsibility, pain, and relativity of all this in the larger scheme of things.

'Imshael does not mind.' Cole tells me quietly, and my heart weeps. 'On the contrary, he is proud of what you have achieved.'

'How could he be proud of me when I've just caused him to suffer through the worst of tortures one could imagine?' I whisper self-depreciatingly.

'He is proud.' Cole restates firmly. 'We knew something like this was likely to happen. We've spoken with Chronicle before agreeing. Both of us are very happy to see your fast progress... And this is something that could save your life one day.'

Regardless of Cole's reassurances, my uneasiness around Imshael doesn't fade. I continue avoiding him and the issue, trying to figure out a safer way to do it. I return to practicing on inanimate objects even though it soon becomes apparent I make little progress. Finding out the exact composition of the Fade stone, how the weave expresses its shape and weight doesn't help while dealing with leaving beings. There's no breath of life there, no spark of change - even when I smash the rock apart it is merely expressed by the shortened weave, no other complications. If I were to try and make a human shorter, it would require compressing all of the organs and the cells, and the whole tapestry would change.

Cole finds me once again as I stand in the room full of fine dust, frustration pouring out me with loud curses as yet another experiment fails.

'I think you should take a break.' Cole says from the entrance.

I look at him wordlessly before returning to the mess around me as I attempt to piece together the torn weave. It fails, the strings unweaving in my hands faster than I can put it together.

'And I think you should talk to Imshael.' He adds firmly.

'I don't know how.' I reply with unusual honesty, finally looking at him.

'He is not angry, Pride.' Cole repeats his reassurances. 'But your behaviour is hurting him. Don't you think he deserves better from you?'

The reproof hits me hard. Seeing my thoughtful expression Cole bows his head and leaves me to myself.

He is right, Void take it. I close my eyes, sighing deeply. Imshael hasn't done anything wrong, yet here I am, punishing him for my own misdeeds. It is unjust, more, it is unworthy of me.

Gathering my courage I reach within me and delicately probe the bond I share with my demon. The response of a welcoming joy allays my worries, and I embrace him mentally with all the strength my physical self currently lacks.

I am so sorry, I think to him.

Don't be, he replies. I'm glad to be of use.

And so our training resumes, with me being a bit more careful and with Chronicle watching all of our sessions from now on. He stops me a couple more times from doing significant damage, and finally, my own body begins to slowly take shape.

It is frailer than it used to be, I note with some dismay. Less grounded in reality, somewhat... ethereal even. When I first fall into it fully, the pain in my fingertips is the first thing I note. Merely from a slight strain of holding a rock, yet the skin breaks and the blood flows. The weave does not stabilize, not fully - not like I remember it used to be. It is definitely my body, and yet... not.

'You've changed.' Chronicle reminds me steadily when I complain about this volatility to him. 'And this is the price of your gift. You cannot be fully of physical world while keeping in constant touch with the metaphysical.'

I bite my lip and thank him for the answer, trying to convince myself that at least I am more than a wisp.

Yet when I go to the rooms Imshael has prepared for me, for the first time actually needing the bed, I feel heavy walls closing in on me. In this dark, sunless environment, I curl up and cry. Frustration, pressure, and fear intermingle.

I have grown so reliant on my slight yet capable body. On its swiftness and my awareness of its limits... Speed and accuracy, endurance and precision. And now it is gone. Gone and if I am to trust Chronicle, which I undoubtedly do, never to return.

A part of me is aware I should be more appreciative of what I've received in return. Of the magnificent, powerful ability which will allow me to change the shape of Thedas. Yet somehow, I do not find myself thankful. I would much rather not have this heavy burden on my shoulders... I would much rather have my original, capable body back, with its manageable problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Pride Fan.  
> Unfortunately little actual plot progress in this chapter, although we do find out some of what has been happening in her absence, and how long Pride has been gone. Some ancient history there too...  
> Did you like it? I promise, we are getting out of Fade soon enough.


	16. Fragile...

**Fragile...**

The following day I pick myself up and pretend I am fine. There's still so much to learn, so much to do, and the clock keeps ticking. I push myself further into the lessons, Chronicle nodding with satisfaction as I cross yet another hurdle. But there are new challenges that accompany each of my successes.

In spite of my form's fragility, I learn to be glad to have it. Yet ever since I've gained a physical body, it takes much more effort on my part to see the weave. I have to keep focusing, and initially, I see the world in double, the pattern of creation overlapping with my normal sight. It takes hours of practice for me to become capable of switching between the two effortlessly. Imshael shudders slightly seeing me do it during the meal in his presence as practice.

Intrigued, I inquire about his reaction. 'Why are you so uncomfortable?'

'It's... eerie.' He mutters, embarrassed with his behaviour. 'Your eyes turn liquid silver... And become empty of any expression, any personality. It's like you are not fully here anymore.'

Chronicle tilts his head.

'You are very perceptive.' There's no praise in his voice, it's simply a statement. 'That is precisely what is happening. Pride joins herself with the Aether to reshape the world around her.'

'Aether?' I blurt out carelessly. 'I've heard myself referring to Imshael and Cole as children of Aether before, that was the main reason for my journey.' I was too scared how this could affect my dearest spirits to let it lie unresolved. The books upon which my rituals were based on did not mention anything remotely like what has happened.

'Ah.' Chronicle for the first time since our meeting looks a bit discomposed. In fact, that might be the first emotion he has ever expressed in my presence. 'That part has been my influence... Although the words were entirely true in their technical sense, the fact that you've spoken them was meant to lead you to seek me out.'

I am left speechless for a few minutes, my head bursting with questions. Fortunately, Imshael is there to step in during my distraction.

'But... What exactly is it?' My demon inquires with his arms crossed.

'Aether is...' Chronicle pauses. 'Actually, it is pretty much impossible to explain. It simply is.'

After some more badgering, he elaborates that Creators' powers originate from it, as do Planeswalkers' abilities. And how with my ritual I've basically adopted Cole and Imshael as my family - or even closer than that considering we share parts of our souls - making them connected with it as well. 'I knew you would be curious, that this would draw you out.' He adds finally, closing the issue.

We abandon the topic, although Chronicle is forced to answer many other questions in the coming weeks regarding it. Imshael is curious how Chronicle was able to influence the rituals from the distance, and Cole wants to know whether there are any particular traits associated with being a child of Aether. I want to know whether my spirits are in any danger.

Chronicle is a patient teacher, answering all of our queries with the same monotonous neutrality. No, there’s no way for Imshael to replicate his intervention, regardless of nature. The traits are what we’ve already discovered, ability to communicate emotions and thoughts across vast distances as well as general awareness of our well-being. Nothing more and nothing less. And my spirits are in no more danger than anyone who is considered my close associate is.

Which sounds rather ominous, but Chronicle says no more on the topic. As far as being child of Aether, he considers the matters closed.

In the meantime I move on to bigger manipulations, instead of merely rearranging the existing threads I begin to repaint them or even completely change their structure. Now that I've figured out most of the materials that exist in the Fade,  it is easy to define colours and how silver is always a thread of lyrium entwined, and green is the Fade itself, and many others. How there's a drop of water in almost every existence, and a wisp of fire and a sound of wind... Elements and cycle, I repeat to myself. Elements and cycle.

Chronicle reminds me to keep to the threes, sixes, and nines when I am building or changing shapes. Anything different and it becomes unstable.

Surprisingly, keeping this foundation in mind comes to me most naturally, even though everything else is impossibly difficult. After some consideration, I realize that the same principle has always applied while drawing or creating glyphs - and I've been doing that for centuries. Even though I was unaware of that particular rule, I could always recognize where the glyph felt... off in some way. As I perceive more similarities, the learning process speeds up rapidly.

Part of me is very satisfied that what others have seen and looked down on as minor magic, something barely worth mentioning in comparison to actual spellcasting, now becomes so useful. Yes, glyphs are usable only when there's time to draw and ground them, but nonetheless, I've always appreciated their varied uses. Especially since in my blindness, I could not cast anything more complicated without drawing it out.

When my vision blurs for the first time, I dismiss it as unimportant. It passes soon after, and I return to strengthening the walls of Imshael's mansion by adding a bit of gold to the weave, strengthening their structure with a touch of obsidian.

But after some time passes as I will the countless silver strands in my hand to change their fabrication, I blank out. Cole screams something and catches me as I slump on the ground, but I cannot hear specific words. As I come to it, a strange wetness on my cheeks attracts my attention. I reach with my hand to wipe it off my cheeks. Glancing at my hand, I am suddenly unable to look away.

It is crimson. With blood dripping slowly down on the ground.

‘Your eyes had turned progressively more red, and then you started bleeding from them.’ Chronicle narrates the events dispassionately while Cole stares at me aghast. ‘Clearly we’ve run into yet another one of the limitations placed on your power.’

He sounds so annoyingly pleased with it I nearly snarl at him, frustrated beyond belief.

‘You are not shaping anything more until your eyes completely heal.’ Imshael announces steadily, although the twitch of his eyes betrays that he is not unaffected by my ordeal.

‘It’s only the eyes.’ I shrug uncaringly. ‘I’ve been blind to magic for ages. Should it come to the worst, I can always discard this body and remake it all over again.’

‘Stop it!’ Imshael snaps angrily, startling me with his outburst. ‘Stop talking about yourself, any part of yourself, like it’s… disposable! You’ve already lost so much - and don’t even pretend you don’t care, I can feel it, right here.’ He taps at his heart. ‘You are angry and depressed because you’ve lost your former self, I get it. That does not mean you need to rush and lose this one as well.’

‘You are taking it awfully personally.’ I note dispassionately, crossing my arms. The blood seeps into my frayed grey robe, marking it where my fingers clench over the rough material.

Imshael looks at me with disbelief, opening his mouth as if to counter my words. But then he closes them without saying anything, shaking his head at me.

‘You’ve been able to wholly restore yourself after much worse wound - surely, I should be able to do the same?’ I add finally, as it becomes clear to me he will not respond.

Unexpectedly, Chronicle interjects at this point.

‘Your eyes serve merely as a conduit of your power. But do not underestimate the message they carry.’ His tone is grave with warning. ‘Their state is an indication of the strain on your very soul. Remember, mortals were not meant to carry such powers…’

‘So what, if I overdo it I will die?’ I ask Chronicle, considering his words. That certainly would change things. Considerably.

‘Not die, your powers have disconnected you from the Cycle. ’ Chronicle corrects me quickly. ‘Just… disperse.’

‘Disperse.’ I repeat after him, blinking. That doesn’t sound so bad, certainly like a redeemable condition.

‘Yes. And it will take ages for your soul to reconnect, much like was the case with Maestria.’  

And suddenly it is that much less appealing of an option.

‘That is, if Thedas still exists by then.’ Chronicle adds with a toothy smile. It doesn’t look pleasant at all, more like a creepy grimace of a crazed man. ‘Since with the way things are going it is not likely, I would not advise on trying it anytime soon.’

I sigh and lost in thoughts leave for my room, absentmindedly brushing the rest of the blood away. It is fortunate that there are no mirrors in Imshael’s mansion, for they would surely break at the sight of me. Dirty, bloodied and with manic gleam in my eyes.

Chronicle’s explanation has a glaring hole in it. To be exact, had they wanted it, Creators could have fortified me - or any other of the prospective users, it simply happened to be me - against this glaring weakness. Only they chose not to.

That is the crucial thing, isn’t it? They chose not to.

I can see many explanations for their choice, all of them perfectly valid. It does not matter which one of them - mayhap all of them, a bit - is the correct one… Since understanding their motives makes me no less frustrated. Not only is this body frail and weak in itself, forcing me to rely on others from now on, its sole strength I find much lesser than I’ve expected.

It does make my tasks considerably harder to manage, since it means I have no chance of taking any of the guardians straight on. How in the hell am I supposed to deal with everything, when in many ways I am so much less than I used to be?!

My trashing about the bed in discontent is interrupted by Imshael knocking on the door and then immediately opening it.

‘It does rather defeat the meaning behind knocking when you enter without invitation.’ Lying on my stomach I mumble into my pillow without much heat behind the words.

‘It was only courtesy, I was coming in either way.’ The demon replies with amusement. He then sits on the edge of my bed, touching the bandage covering my eyes hesitantly. They barely obscure my vision and are there more so that I do not accidentally touch anything, rather than to actually speed along the process. In any case I keep my eyes mostly closed, it becomes unbearable otherwise.

Does it hurt?’

‘It’s fine.’ Actually it is quite agonising now that the shock has worn off, but I’ve experienced much greater suffering not long ago. In comparison it feels insignificant to even mention. ‘Why have you come?’ He must know it is nothing serious. Not for one of my abnormally heightened pain tolerance.

Imshael squirms slightly, taking a deep breath and plunging in ‘Fean’Na. It is not important that you can’t fight on the frontlines anymore.’ I flip around on the bed to face him, opening my eyes to see his expressions only to close them as the sharp pain spikes up. Imshael puts a finger on my lips, preventing me from speaking. ‘It has never been your physical prowess that got things done… In fact in the grand scheme of things it is quite insignificant - but rather your understanding of people and how to play them, use them to the best of their abilities. According to or against their will, you’ve always found a way to manipulate the situation to your benefit.’

‘I am pretty hands on, Imshael.’ I remind him steadily. ‘Part of my understanding, as you’ve called it, comes from watching people in action. Seeing their behaviour helps me pin down their character, it was one of the reasons I’ve taken so many missions as Fea. It helped me judge people under my command, ensure they were the best for their position. Even with you, I needed to first subdue you before you swore your allegiance.’

Something hangs in the air, as if he wants to deny it, but then he says something completely different and I think I must have been wrong.

‘But you **have** already found reliable subordinates. You have me and Cole as direct extensions of your will, Imshael as your spymaster, Iron Bull as your planner and Blackwall as your commander. In the background, the Wings are yours to command, even if it is rather unofficial.’ His voice is firm and steady, calming me but I am not yet convinced.

‘I did let go of the Wings, and I do not trust Iron Bull. Not completely.’ He is not yet won over, I can feel it. But my arguments are becoming progressively weaker, I am grasping at the straws, and from Imshael’s snort he can see it just as well as I do.

‘Neither do I but that is only a matter of time and circumstances. And the Wings shall remain yours as long as Arissar lives, you know it. He is not one to forget his true allegiances.’ He reaches out and squeezes my hand. Warmth seeps in and I do not pull back as he gently runs his fingers over my sensitive skin. ‘The most important thing is - you need to learn to delegate more. You have capable people around you, allow us to do what we are meant to do and protect you. This…’ I can feel the air moving as he sweeps his hand, forgetting I cannot see him. ‘This is far from the end of the world, Fean’Na. You need to do things you are the best at - meet and judge people and situations, decide on the course of action… Play the diplomat and scheme and use all of us as you see fit.’

I bite my lip as he stands up, giving me one last reassuring squeeze before bowing - which I cannot see but I know he must have done regardless, that’s just how he is - and leaving the room.

He has given me a lot to think about. Although none of this is precisely a revelation, when put in this way, unexpectedly a completely new picture emerges. Sometimes all we need is a different perspective, another person to point out what ought to have been obvious from the beginning.

And I am certain Imshael has meant every word he said, he punctuated it with waves of conflicted emotions pouring through our bond. I’m sure he has done it on purpose, to make his words harder to dismiss.

When have I begun to define myself by my fighting prowess? It has never been my strongest asset, surely I must have been aware of that. And yet, somehow, the loss of it has clouded my mind.

I will need to do better in the future, I swear to myself. From now on, any mistake shall be costly…

After a couple days pass Chronicle deems my connection with the Aether sufficiently recovered and I return to the shaping. Or, more precisely, we begin gouging the limits of my strength. Soon I can recognise the signs myself, a white flash in my eyes, growing dizziness and the pressure in the back of my head which begins to build up until it overloads. I have a few more episodes of crimson tears flowing from my eyes until I get a complete hang of it. Cole becomes quite skillful at wrapping bandages over my eyes, and then at infusing them with a bit of his spiritual power, keeping them cool and pleasant against my skin. It develops into a routine, and even when I no longer cry with blood it feels soothing to have it on after practice.

Finally comes the day when I can no longer justify further delay in departure. It is time to face the world.

Chronicle decides to remain in Imshael’s domain, at least temporarily. I am jealous of his ability to do so, and even though he explains it with a necessity to remain at hand while strengthening himself, I know better. Physically he is much better off than myself, but I can commiserate with his need to recollect himself after centuries of his soul being split apart. He has put it off for my sake, to teach me and guide me, and I shall not request more of him.

Before we enter the transportation circle carved out by Imshael, I ask him one final question.

‘Who was the person laughing?’

Chronicle tilts his head, and for the first time in our acquaintance I see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

‘You know who. Sometimes, Pride, you are unwilling to look at the truth staring you right in the eyes… It is a bad habit to have, one that you would do well to correct.’ Chronicle shakes his head, his long mousy hair falling into his eyes. ‘It will hurt your loved ones should you continue doing so.’

And on this, typically for him cryptic last advice we part ways.

Imshael has been preparing for our departure long before my decision to finally do so. It is not surprising that every detail is considered, and our passage is both safe and nearly seamless.

We appear in the small forests a few hours away from Val Royeaux. Imshael explains that a small skirmish between apostates and templars has taken place here recently, wearing down at the Veil. I do not question how he has come to know this, accepting his words with a nod. Cole goes to arrange horses for all of us, his unique ability of making people forget more suitable for such task. I do not want anyone aware of our presence, not for a while yet.

The journey southward takes about a week, during which I carefully probe for information on the political front. Another year has passed during my training in the Fade, but not much has occurred.

Divine Victoria has been as always bullheaded in her regulations, desperately trying to restore the Chantry to what it used to be under Justinia’s rule - forgetting that it was exactly the direction which led to trouble. The regulations over Circles of Magi have once again grown stricter, seeds of dissent sprouting in dissatisfied hearts of those who were hoping for change.

It is exactly what I’ve been hoping for while manipulating for her appointment and I am glad that she lives up to my expectations.

The Inquisition after successfully “foiling” my plans for the Armada has been keeping suspiciously quiet, or at least so the rumours float. I know Nervlis will have more accurate information for me, and I resolve to wait until our meeting before taking any countermeasures.

The shaky alliance between Briala, Gaspard and Celene is at its last legs. Without Inquisition keeping them firmly in hand their petty games have escalated in spite of the growing danger within their borders. I am sure Briala must have downplayed the scale of Fen’s uprising to the best of her spies’ abilities, and I must say I am amazed at her success. Nonetheless, soon she will be forced to run - and I intend on offering her the safe haven. It is only right after all she and her people have done for us.

As we enter the lush Arbor Wilds under Cole’s guidance I come to terms with the fact that Fen must have sealed the deal with Mythal during my absence. There’s no other explanation and I feel a bit angry that he has done so… Until I recall with a grimace that I wasn’t there to raise my objections yet again.

Imshael’s and Cole’s cooperation makes it disturbingly easy to pass the sentries, and we progress further in until we reach the Temple of Mythal. Which has clearly been turned into base of operations, military camp surrounding it with countless tents and fires, indicating that already a large force has been gathered. The central plaza before the temple has been left open, and currently a military practice is being conducted there. A large gathering of observers surrounds it, taunting or encouraging the soldiers who are apparently being punished for something. I observe the large blond man walking among the trainees with an energetic spring in his sea-man worthy, swaying step and smile.

These years have been good for Rain.

‘Cole.’ I murmur softly, my spirit disappearing from behind me without any further command. He weaves his way through the crowd without notice, reaching out to touch Rain from behind.

Rain swirls around with his sword drawn, letting its tip fall down once he recognises my spirit. He appears disgruntled at being taken unawares and I laugh softly at this little bit of mischievousness from my spirit. He didn’t need to do it in this manner… But he did, and I am glad for the fierce joy at the prank well executed that radiates from him.

They exchange some words and then Rain looks in our direction before whistling sharply and finishing the practice. He comes up to us and looks over me, taking all the changes in without comment, with a glint of worry crossing his eyes.

He leads us through and into the fortress, the guards sharply saluting at the sight of him. He made his place, I note with some fondness. That’s good.

There are signs of fresh repairs being made in the temple, holes in the floor patched up and broken windows replaced. The pesky entrance rituals appear to have been lifted, people free to come and go as they please. It looks… Lived in, bustling with activity. Quite the change from the solemn, grandiose atmosphere this temple used to have.

I wonder what Mythal thinks of this indignity. Having to use one of her sacred places of worship as a base of operations… It must sting.

We finally reach what seems to be a small, remote study room. Rain knocks twice, and then opens the door.

‘I’ve come across some intruders.’ He announces, bowing and falling silent. I enter, looking about. It is only Fen’Harel and two other elves inside, and a mountain of paperwork. Regardless, as opposed to my usually cluttered and messy rooms, his remain in pristine order, arranged thematically in stacks and folders. He is very much like this, my wolf. Precise and careful.

My wolf looks haggard, tired dark circles under his eyes, as he lifts his head and glances in our direction. There’s no surprise at our presence, he must have felt my aura closing in for a while already. A storm of wild emotions rages in his grey eyes for a few seconds.

‘Ah, Pride.’ And then he tilts his head and it clears, as if it has never been there. ‘It has been a while. Welcome back.’ He flicks his hand and suddenly a helpful attendant moves forward, ready to lead us to our assigned quarters, and will my lady want to partake in some refreshments if you please?

I am… flabbergasted. I’ve expected an argument, a lecture or… I don’t know. Something.

Certainly not this easy acceptance and quick dismissal.

Still a bit out of sorts I accept the offer of the attendant and exit the room with Imshael and Cole flanking me, barely aware of the deep bows of the Elvhen as I pass them.

It is most unlike Fen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some character development! Finally!  
> Honestly, I wanted her to change a bit faster, but Fean’Na has her own ideas.  
> Still, Pride finally got some sense beaten into her by worried Imshael. It was long in coming, but when it is him maybe she will finally listen. This connection between their souls sure proves helpful at times like this…  
> That is not to say it will be easy or natural for her. Expect some more trouble coming up from this venue, obviously.  
> Who else thinks Fen is being too careful with her recently? It is like walking on eggshells. I do not like their current relationship by the way. They are not being honest with each other while pretending they are fine with the way things are… So many issues piled up… Pride doesn’t fully trust him, not with the important bits and Fen is a bit too uncertain to push back...
> 
>  
> 
> SPOILER ALERT!
> 
>  
> 
> It will blow up on them. I’m not yet particularly decided when, since I need to consider Fen’s side of things a bit more to draw the scenes out properly.


End file.
